


Four-five, Revisited

by geenajay



Series: Four-Five [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi, Slave Dean, master Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 99,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12000888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geenajay/pseuds/geenajay
Summary: The sequel to Four-Five: it will probably make more sense if you read that one first.The story picks up from season six: I am assuming that anyone reading this will have watched the series uptil then, so apologies if any spoilers.This is a work in progress, so please bear with me.Hope you enjoy :)





	1. Here We Go

“Is he ever going to wake up?”

Bobby had lost count of the number of times Dean had asked him that. Hell, he had lost count of the number of times _he_ had asked _Dean_ that! But there they were, both waiting to see if Sam woke up whole again, with his soul intact thanks to assistance from Death himself. Or whether they had just destroyed what had been left since his literal descent into hell, trapped inside the cage with just the Devil for company.

“Dean?”

They turned as one and stared at Sam as he stood hesitantly and confused in the doorway. It _seemed_ to be him again. But even as he was enveloped by his younger yet larger brother in a gigantic hug, Dean was glancing over at Bobby with a warning frown and the older man understood.

Then Sam was hugging _him_.

And Bobby just wanted to kill him.

He didn’t think he would _ever_ not want to.

Which was why Dean was giving him the glance. Imploring him to just try and let it go. To bite his tongue and keep their silence. But if there was one thing that Bobby was certain of, it was that he would never let what had happened go…

 _Never_.

It was with genuine relief that he let Sam take his place in the car and head off with his brother to try and track down what might be abducting young girls. Although he couldn’t believe it when it turned out that the girls had been taken by dragons. _Dragons!_

Really, his life couldn’t _get_ much weirder.

But then the boys came back, and he fought to hold his tongue again. Really, really fought to.

Dean was sitting in the car port when Sam finally got up the courage to approach him. “I’m so, _so_ sorry, Dean.”

And his brother looked at him and he knew. “How did you…?”

“Cas.”

“Hmm.”

But still Dean kept his silence.

And still Bobby just wanted to _kill_ Sam for what he had done.


	2. So – What’s Happened in the Last Few Years?

Sam couldn’t blame Bobby for the animosity he felt from him.

It hurt him to think that he had sadistically tried to kill his beloved surrogate uncle. It hurt him to realise that it had been _him_ that had destroyed his brother’s chance at happiness with Lisa and Ben. It hurt to know that he had somehow made Dean so _desperate_ that he had even _risked_ contacting Death to get Sam’s soul back.

And he was keenly aware that Castiel would have only told him the parts of the last eighteen months that the angel _knew_.

So what else had Sam done? Who else had he deliberately hurt?

And how would he _ever_ put it right?

He had so _much_ to put right.

And the start and the end of all of it, was his brother.

Sam sat at the table in Bobby’s kitchen and pretended to be researching on his laptop. But really he was watching Dean who was sitting on the couch in the other room, being grumbled at by Bobby for _not_ helping him research the ancient book they had discovered, that had been gruesomely written on pages formed from human skin. “Aw, come on Bobby, you _know_ how useless I am at reading all that geeky stuff!”

“Then it’s about time you learned, ya idgit.”

As their good-natured banter went back and forth, Sam watched Dean. And noticed how many new lines he had on his face; noticed how weary he looked, how drawn; how his smile was no longer truly reaching his eyes; sighed at how fast he was going through yet another bottle of whisky. And he wondered how much of that _he_ had caused since he had fallen into the pit.

Because he already knew how much damage he had caused _before_ it.

How had it all gone so wrong? Because of _him_ , his own mind supplied. Because of Sam fucking WInchester. He had had _everything_ that he had ever wanted… and he had stupidly thrown it all away.

He had all but thrown _Dean_ away.

And he would never forgive himself.

Tears pricked at Sam’s eyes as he remembered the last four years… well, what he _could_ remember of them…

Four years. Four years that seemed like a lifetime: _several_ lifetimes. Four years, when Sam had thought all his dreams had come true, and he had never _been_ so happy. Four years that had happened after everything he thought he had known, for his whole _life_ , had been proved to be totally and completely a lie. Because his father had died… and the truth had come out. 

The truth that Sam’s ‘big brother’ Dean… _wasn’t_ his brother. In fact, he had been John Winchester’s slave, and upon his death had been passed onto Sam.

And _all_ of Sam’s long-buried fantasies involving his brother had charged to the forefront of his mind, for the first time unhindered and made possible by the simple fact that they _weren’t,_ in fact, blood related. He could look at Dean and see the beautiful man he was, feel tremendous desire for him, and not feel ashamed.

Not anymore.

Although unfortunately, Sam had all too quickly realised that he wasn’t the _only_ one who looked at his brother, (for Dean would _always_ be his brother no matter what), that way. In fact, his brother had had more than a few… ‘admirers’. Extremely powerful and wealthy admirers: ones who _weren’t_ bothered about keeping within the law. Ones who were prepared to pay or do _anything_ to get what they wanted. And his father had used that… used _Dean_ … as a living commodity, as a method of payment for expensive, rare or simply illegal items. He had forced him to use his body, in whatever way was required, to settle the debts.

And… John had forced Dean into his _own_ bed.

Sam had been sickened to his stomach when he had realised just how much abuse his brother had suffered throughout his life: he never thought he could ever feel such _hatred_ for his father. But he had made it his personal mission in life to look after Dean from then on; to keep him safe; to try and keep him out of the hands of the men who seemed to always _be_ there; and to assure him that he was worth love.

Because Sam did really, truly, deeply, _love_ Dean.

And it had taken Dean a long time to start to believe him: to begin to trust Sam’s assurances that he meant it when he said that. That Sam wanted them to have a relationship and a life together as a couple, not a forced one as a master and slave. And, slowly, it had happened: Dean had started to _see_ that he had meant it.

And he had slowly begun to look at Sam as more than a brother… or a master… and felt desire for _him_ as well. And that first time, when he had reached for Sam, with those amazing green eyes gently smiling at him, and those strong arms pulling the younger man down to cover him, and their clothes somehow being removed so they didn’t get in the way… Sam would always remember it as the most special day of his life…ever.

And he had never been so happy.

How had it all gone so _wrong?_

Because of Azazel: the yellow-eyed demon. And Sam had been killed… looking back, Sam couldn’t believe it even now, that _he_ had been _killed!_ But Dean had saved him. He had sold his own _soul_ to another demon in exchange for Sam being returned to life.

Because Dean had really, truly, deeply loved _Sam_.

And the payment was due in precisely one year.

His beautiful brother had only one year to live, and Sam’s dreams all but fell apart.

Dean had simply wanted to make the most of the time he had left: he had wanted to party, to enjoy what he had. He had wanted to be with Sam.

And Sam?

He had proved just how exactly like his so-hated dad he actually _was!_ He had got _obsessed_ with saving Dean: all his days…and nights… were suddenly taken up with research; and calling everyone he could think of for help or information; and following up leads, anguishing over every slightest chance of getting Dean released from his deal.

And believing a Bitch who said she could save his brother.

Looking back, Sam could see… it was so _obvious_ with hindsight that… no _wonder_ Dean had got so fed up waiting for him to come to their bed, or just go out with him and have a drink, or just… spend _any_ time with his brother… _lover_ … during the last days he had left without constantly _reminding_ him that he was a dead man walking. It hadn’t been long before Dean had given up waiting and would go off on his own again, as he had always done, to simply get drunk, or find other company… _anyone_ … sometimes _more_ than one… to spend the last nights of his life with.

And Sam had let him as it didn’t matter. Because once he had _saved_ his brother, he would be able to have every single night with him for the rest of their lives. Dean would be his _exclusively_. Just as _soon_ as Sam had managed to save him…

How must that seeming indifference have looked to his brother’s eyes?

Sam’s tears began to slide down his cheeks as he remembered. How could he have been so stupid? He should have taken Dean to see the Grand Canyon; they should have had vacations; they should have spent the rest of his brother’s year of life together in bed…

But he had put all his trust in Ruby.  And his own blind obsessive stupidity. Even though Dean had tried desperately to warn him about her, and had ended up eventually wasting his last few months with fights, and angry words, and tears…

He had been dragged down to Hell _still_ warning Sam about Ruby.

By the time he had returned…his flesh reformed by Castiel around his buried remains… Sam was in full John Winchester ‘revenge mode’. And a total addict to drinking demon blood, encouraged by Ruby’s lies.

And completely addicted to the _Power_ that he had thought it gave him.

How he must have hurt his brother. How Dean had tried to stop him; to make him realise what he was doing. To make him think about what he was _becoming_.

But… probably Dean would have forgiven him, because he loved Sam so much.

And he had been proved to be _right_.

Sam had _indeed_ been tricked by the femme fatale demon. Due to his recklessness, he had released the Devil himself from his Cage. And kick-started the Apocalypse: Sam Winchester would go down in history as the kid who had destroyed the whole _world_.

But still… Dean might have forgiven him. Eventually.

“Sam? You okay?”

Shit, he was crying openly now. But he couldn’t stop. And the tears came harder as he felt the strong arms of his brother… of the man he had loved _far_ too much all his life and had let down so badly… wrap around his shoulders and pull him close. And Sam cried harder as he remembered…

All the terrible things he had done. All the people that had died because of him. All the people he had _himself_ been responsible for the death of…

And he remembered what he had been. What Sam Winchester _was_. Stupid. Arrogant. Obsessive. Power-crazed.

A _Monster_.

Yet… still Dean loved him so much that he might… forgive him… one day… perhaps? Even after he had released _Lucifer?_

Because Dean _always_ forgave Sam. Always. No matter what Sam had done…

Apart from the one thing that Dean _couldn’t_ forgive Sam for.

The one thing that had hurt Dean _too_ much.

The worst thing that Sam could _ever_ have done to his brother.

Ever.

He hadn’t even registered what he _had_ done, at first, in that hospital: Dean had been lying critically injured in Intensive Care, after the demon Alistair had beaten him nearly to death.

And Sam was half terrified that his brother was going to die… again…

…. And he was half- _buzzed!_

Because _he_ had just killed _Alistair_. _He_ had just seen that fucking angel Castiel look at him with… incredulity. Maybe a little respect. Perhaps a little _fear_.

Sam Winchester was no longer just the Boy with the demon blood that the angel had dismissed with such a sneer. He had shown that bastard that he was something to be reckoned with: he had shown Castiel how _powerful_ he was. And Sam was fucking _proud_ of that!

He missed it when the medical staff began to look at him with open contempt. When one pointedly asked: “Are you the owner?” When Dean had finally managed to open his eyes through all the bruises that covered his swollen face, and was being gently cared for by the nurses, and one had been talking to him sympathetically…and he had stared at her in shock at her words...

And _cried_.

And he had hardly spoken to Sam, or even to Castiel when he come to see him, apart from to whisper brokenly that he couldn’t do it anymore, he just _couldn’t_. And he had cried some more.

But _still_ Sam hadn’t realised what he had done.

Not until he had returned to his brother’s room after going out to stretch his legs, and found Ford, the FBVS agent, sitting there, talking to Dean.

Sam had stared at him in horror. They had made sure… he and Bobby had made _sure_ … that everyone: the FBVS, the AE, _everyone_ , had known that his brother was _dead_ after Dean had been taken to Hell. They had even had what was left of his body to prove it! So how…?

And then… Sam had realised what he had done.

Or…rather… what he _hadn’t_ done.

What he had _promised_ Dean that he would do.

The _only_ thing that Dean had ever asked him to do.

Sam had felt sick as he realised: he had been in such a hurry to bury Dean’s body before Bobby could burn it… and lose him _any_ chance of getting Dean returned to it… that he had forgotten to cut out the microchip implanted into his brother’s spinal cord that designated him as nothing more than a _slave_. Even though it had been Dean’s last request that he did. And Castiel had rebuilt Dean’s body around his buried remains when he had resurrected him…

So the chip would have still been in there.

How could he have forgotten? How _could_ he?

Even as Ford was speaking to them both, Sam could only stare plaintively at his brother, and plead beseechingly with his eyes for his forgiveness… and Dean hadn’t been able to bear to even look at him. And as for the expression of complete misery and wretchedness on his face…

Sam would _never_ forget that.

“So, anyway.” Ford had known that neither of them were listening to him, but he was going to talk anyway. “After your so-called ‘death’, I set my computer to constantly monitor your tracker and chip transmission just in case: you are a _Hunter_ after all… and we’ve seen some things over the years…

It bleeped me the instant the moment your tracker came back on line… the scanner they ran down your spine on your arrival here must have reactivated it… but I terminated your ‘high risk’ alert _immediately_ on the Bureau’s general response system, Dean. Hopefully before anybody else had a chance to see it. I’ve reconfigured your signal now so it should only send information to _me_ as to your whereabouts from now on. And it’ll _stay_ that way as far as I’m concerned…”

“Why are you doing this?” Dean could hardly speak, he was so upset and emotional. “Why are you helping me?”

The agent smiled at him, but his eyes were sad. “I know what Hamill did, Dean, I know he betrayed us… and you. And he’s probably not the only one in our organisation to be on the payroll of those bastards: I… really don’t know who to trust any more. I haven’t for years.

 _You_ could bring the AE _down_. You’re probably the only person in the world that _could_ , Dean.

But I know you won’t. And I understand _why_. And… I get why you’ve claimed to be _dead_ all these years. _I_ don’t want you back in their hands any more than _you_ do…

But…” and he had handed over one of his cards to each of the Winchesters as he had left “…should you ever change your mind, Dean? You _call_ me. The entire Bureau will be at your disposal… Well. _I’ll_ be at your disposal.

I want to take those bastards down. The _entire_ AE. I want to take them down… _Hard._ ”

As soon as he had gone, Sam had tried his hardest to apologise to Dean. _And_ to Bobby: because when _he_ had heard what Sam had done, the look of sheer _disgust_ he had given him was something else the young man would never forget…

But Sam had never really understood just _how_ upset his brother had been with him about it.

Not until immediately after he had been tricked into releasing Lucifer and he had expected irate fury and _vitriol_ from Dean for not listening to him, and for being so _stupid_ as to trust a _demon_. He had _deserved_ Dean’s hatred, Sam _knew_ he had: he had deserved _everyone’s_ hatred. He was so disgusted at _himself_ for what he had done, and… in some strange way, Sam had _needed_ to hear his brother’s anger at him…

Yet instead Dean had just looked at him with… such _disappointment_ in his eyes, and such _sorrow_ …

… but not a flicker of surprise.

And Sam, in his first true un-addicted state since Dean’s return from Hell, thanks to some divine intervention that had saved them both as Lucifer had risen, had _finally_ realised how deep his attitude and thoughtlessness had cut through his brother…

And then, when he had heard Famine mocking Dean… taunting him, telling him that he was broken, just going through the motions when, inside, he was already dead… he had finally understood _why_. Sam had seen the pain in his brother’s face at the Horseman’s derision: he had felt his shame, and his misery, and he had known that he could have stopped it.

Famine had told them that his strength was fed by human…and angel as well, it seemed… emotions such as want, need, or desire being overloaded until they self-destructed.  And the entity had been correct when he had sneered at Dean, because a slave just wasn’t _allowed_ the luxury of such emotions. They couldn’t _have_ ‘wants’! They had no rights to ‘needs’! They were possessions… they were owned… they were just things…

They didn’t even exist as people: they didn’t matter… not at all.

To be a slave was to be a _nothing_.

So of _course_ Dean was empty inside. Of course he was _broken_.

Because of Sam. Because of what he had done: because of how he had treated his brother. He had _known_ that Dean had _had_ wants. And needs. And desire.

He had wanted: because he had tried to tell Sam _so_ many times that _all_ he had wanted, was his younger brother’s strong, protective arms around him every night until he went to Hell, telling him that it was all going to be alright.

He had desired that Sam would prove to be better than their father: that he had meant it when he promised Dean that he would never let him be abused by anyone again, including himself.

And he had _needed_ him to keep that promise. That one fucking promise. The one thing that Dean had specifically _asked_ Sam to do: to give him his freedom, even if the luxury of being a free man would only _ever_ be possible after his brother’s death.

And look what Sam had done.

“Hey. _Hey_ , Sammy! It’s okay! You’re safe. You’re safe! It’s okay.” And the arms were impossibly tightening around him as Dean tried to console him.

But it wasn’t okay. It had _never_ been okay.

Because Sam had _finally_ realised the true extent of the pain he had caused his brother, and he knew the only thing he could do, was _try_ to put it right.  No matter what it took: no matter what it cost him.

His mistake in releasing Lucifer had been just that: _his_ mistake. So it _had_ to be him who put it right, even if it came down to Sam having to sacrifice himself to save the world from being destroyed.

To save his brother.

Although, once again, he had miscalculated the strength of his own abilities against that of Lucifer’s, and the Devil had taken control of him. But the archangel… _all_ the angels in fact… had never factored into their game the extent of Sam’s deep love for his brother, and Dean’s always intense love for _him_ as well that had made him _refuse_ to give in even as he was taking another violent beating from Sam’s own hands: he had kept fighting to get through to his brother, triggering the memories in the younger man of when they had been happy, right from childhood to the last few good months before it had all begun to go wrong, and giving Sam the necessary strength to hold the Devil back for just those vital few seconds that he needed…

And he had thrown himself into Hell, hoping that Dean might finally be able to find some happiness.

Because he had made his brother promise that he would go to Lisa and Ben, and live quietly, keeping himself well beneath the radar of the AE and the FBVS and _anyone_ who might recognise Dean for what he was. That had been the _single_ consoling thought for Sam as he had fallen.

That Dean might at least have a chance of being happy.

Well away from Sam.

But now, the young man sat in Bobby’s kitchen and all but sobbed his heart out because it had turned out that… he had fucked _that_ up for Dean as well. He had been walking around the earth for eighteen months without a soul, doing God knows what.

And he didn’t remember a single moment of it.

“Sammy? Hey, are you okay?”

As his thoughts returned to the present, Sam realised that Dean’s arms were still tight around him, despite the front of his shirts now being soaked through from the younger man’s tears. Gathering his strength, and ignoring the own demands of his heart, he managed to push his brother away enough that he could speak: his voice broken and hoarse with emotion.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. For everything! For Ruby! For being worse than a fucking useless addict! For being pig-headed and stubborn and... _stupid!_ I was so _stupid!_ And self-righteous! And I wouldn’t _listen_. Not to _either_ of you! And look what I _did!_ Look at what came of it! Look at what I’ve _done_ to you!”

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s done.” The acceptance in the deep, gravelly voice made him feel worse than if the words had been shouted at him.

“But it’s _not_ okay, is it? I gotta face what I gotta face, but I… if I did all those things to _you_ two, and I _love_ you two…then what else…? I’m a monster: I’ve _always_ been a monster.”

“No argument from me, boy.”

“ _Bobby!_ ”

Sam felt his heart break further as the two other men glared at each other. In the end it was Bobby who put his hands up and backed away: “I know, I know, don’t scratch at the wall! I’m going into town: we need some supplies anyway.” And with that he turned and left without looking back.

Behind him, Dean sighed and held his younger brother tightly again, grimacing as he felt the cold, clammy wetness that had been his shirt pressing into his abdomen. “He’ll come round, Sam. He knows it wasn’t really you.”

“But it _was_ , wasn’t it, Dean? It was me in the purest form of the sick being that I really am!”

What could Dean say to that? But Sam held his breath, waiting for the rebuttal, the excuse that his brother would make for him, because… that was just his _habit_. His instinct. To defend Sam from everyone else, no matter what.

The fact that there _wasn’t_ one this time made Sam feel worse than anything else could ever had done.

Because Dean just remained silent.

And Sam knew without question that… even though he couldn’t remember… he must have done something really _terrible_.

He wanted to ask, but at the same time… he didn’t dare. But there _was_ one thing that he _had_ to ask. Because it was the only thing that really mattered.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Can we try again? I mean….” He pulled his head back and tried to wipe his face clear, belatedly realising what a red-eyed snotty mess he probably was as he looked up at his brother. “You and me? I _know_ it was me who threw us away. I got so out of control and so… out of _everything_ that I threw away what we had. And you were the best thing I _ever_ had.

And I’m _so_ sorry I forgot about your chip: I was just so scared that Bobby would burn your remains and you would never be able to return… I let you down so badly, Dean. And I’m so sorry. But…. Can _we_ try again? I’ve missed you so much. I wanted you in my arms at night. I always did, I always have.  Please, Dean?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sammy.” The quietness of Dean’s voice broke the younger man’s heart.

“But…. Why? Why, Dean?”

“Are you ordering me to sleep with you, Sam?”

“No! _No!_ I’d never do that to you, Dean. I never would! You _know_ I _never_ would! But we were _good_ together, Dean. And I know I… I know what I did… But…”

“We’re brothers, Sam. Let’s just keep it as that. Or if that’s not enough for you, then I can be your slave. Well… I _am_ your slave...”

“You’re more than my slave, Dean!” And Sam was staring up at him. “Don’t you _get_ that? That’s what the problem has _always_ been between us: You’re… _everything!_ I love you so _much!_ Please. _Please_ can we try again?”

He watched as his brother hesitated momentarily, chewing absent-mindedly at his lower lip as he tried to find the words to reply: “And I love _you_ , Sammy. I always will. You’re my reason for being alive, and you’re my baby brother, and you’re my _master_ , Sam….

But… I can’t be… I’m… If you want me to come to your bed, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m your slave, Sam. That’s what I _am_. But… I can’t be more, Sam. I tried. I… _hoped_ … I… I can’t let you do that to me again, Sam.”

The younger man could hardly make out the last, barely whispered admittance, but it still seemed to freeze his blood solid in his veins anyway. “I just _can’t,_ Sammy.”

And with one last tight clasp of his arms around his brother’s shoulders, Dean was straightening up, releasing his hold… and walking away without another glance.

Leaving a distraught Sam to cry on his own behind him.


	3. And On With the Story

It was a completely silent car journey back from Rhode Island.

Dean drove steadily, his eyes seemingly focused solely on the road ahead… but nearly as much of his attention was actually on the younger man who was beside him in the passenger seat. Sam had had some sort of seizure, and it had terrified the older man. Had he gone through all of this, just to lose his baby brother anyway?

Sam, for his part, also seemed to be staring steadily out through the windscreen… but they could have been travelling along the yellow brick road on their way to the Emerald City for all the notice he was actually taking of their journey. All his attention, every single thought that he was having, was focused internally and onto memories that had slowly started to seep back into his consciousness.

And _god_ , he wished that they weren’t.

He had been so excited when… something… Memory? Vision? _Something_ had stirred within his mind at the mention of Bristol, in Rhode Island. He had _been_ there. And not with his brother, but the brief image in his head had shown him _Samuel_ , his grandfather. So it must have been within the last eighteen months…

And now he sat silently in the Impala as his brother drove them back to Bobby’s. While his head span with the revelations that he had uncovered in that town…

… about himself.

And all his hopes had been exposed as false, for Sam now had to truly face up to what he had been.

And what he _had_ been, during the last eighteen months, was a sadistic, sociopathic, arrogant… piece of shit.

Just in that one town, he had slept with just about every woman who had crossed his path, unconcerned about whether they had been married or not. He had beaten a policeman who had been trying to arrest him, nearly to death. He had used a man as living bait without his knowledge… and killed the poor human himself when he had failed to protect him from the monster. As _well_ as the other men that had been caught and bitten by the Arachne: Sam had shot them all out of ‘mercy’, he hadn’t even _tried_ to save them.

And that had only been _one_ town.

What the hell _else_ had he done?

Although Sam wasn’t so sure that he wanted to know anymore.

In fact, he was positive he _didn’t!_

The _only_ bright spot in an otherwise dark and depressing couple of days was that he had had some sort of convulsion, or seizure or _something_ , as they were preparing to leave. Not that _that_ had been good. In fact the vision or whatever it was… please _god_ , let it not be a memory… had been the most terrifying thing that he could _ever_ have imagined…

 _But_.

He had come round to find himself in his brother’s arms. And the look on Dean’s face as he was holding him? Just as he had opened his eyes, just before the older man had had time to clamp down on his emotions as he always did, Sam had caught not only a glimpse of Dean’s panic-stricken face at what was happening, but also the concern and… _love_ … that still shone in those amazing green irises.

Love for _him_.

Despite _everything_ he had done.

Dean still loved him.

And that was the only thing keeping Sam even _remotely_ sane at the moment.

“You sure you’re okay?” The deep, gravelly voice broke through his thoughts. “I still think you should go to the hospital.”

“I’m fine, Dean. _Really._ I’m just tired, but… I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to dream. Not anymore.” He sighed and finally managed to turn his head to look at the other man, tears shining in his eyes. “I don’t think I ever want to dream again.”

His brother grunted, while seemingly keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead… although Sam wasn’t fooled. But he said nothing.

They drove in silence for a while longer.

Then Sam _did_ begin to feel his eyelids get heavy, and his head seem to become a dead weight on his neck.

“Get some rest, Sam.” Dean hadn’t even turned his head. “You look like you need it.”

“I’m f…” Sam began, but he wasn’t. And he _knew_ he wasn’t. “Okay.” He paused for a moment: dare he risk…? “Dean? Could I? I mean…Just…”

And he was rearranging himself in his seat, sliding his long body to the right until it was almost up against the door, while his shoulders and head began to descend to the left. Towards his brother’s lap. He noticed as Dean’s own body immediately stiffened with tension and hastened to reassure him: “Just… _please._ I need… Please.”

And he was finally half-lying on the front seat: legs stretched out in the footwell, his head resting on Dean’s strong thigh, his soft hair spreading out across the denim. Just as he had done so many times as a child, albeit in the rear seat… secure and safe with his big brother.

Sam was desperate to put his hand on Dean’s knee as well, but restrained himself. Just the single touch was enough at the moment, and he sent up a silent prayer that the other man didn’t just simply push him away…

They went a couple more miles in silence, before Sam felt his brother finally relax a little… and then the fingers on his right hand were suddenly leaving the steering wheel to instead gently brush against the younger man’s head, and tentatively begin to card through his long locks. Obviously Dean had remembered as well.

Sam blinked back tears and just concentrated on enjoying the moment: how he wished they could just go back to _that_ time, when homework was his only obsession, and the only monster he was scared of was the one in his closet.

They drove on a long way. It was Sam who finally broke the silence: “I can’t believe how I… I mean: I’m a…! I just… What _else_ do you think I’ve done, Dean? Have I been like _that_ … _everywhere?_ Ever since I came back? Like _that?_ ”

“I don’t know, Sam. I really don’t know.”

Sam twisted his neck slightly so he could look up at the other. “Of course. Castiel said I only came to find you when you were in danger from the Djinn that were after you… that at least I’d left you alone until then. Ouch!”

For his brother’s fingers had tightened abruptly, twisted as they were in his hair, and tugging it painfully. They were just as suddenly released: “Sorry,“ Dean apologised, “it got caught on my rough skin. Ain’t it about time you considered putting the clippers to that lot?”

“I told you: I’m never cutting it! I don’t _want_ to look like a soldier: that was you and dad!”

“Yeah, but that was when you were a rebellious teen! You’re all grown up now, baby boy! Time to get your hair cut!”

“Jerk!”

“Bitch!”

Sam laughed and felt better momentarily. Then the events of Bristol surged through his brain again and he turned serious once more.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I wish I could have left you out of all of this: you were happy with Lisa.”

“I was a mess. When I wasn’t drinking to forget how depressed I was, I was depressed because I wasn’t drunk.” The stark admission shook Sam. _And_ upset him. He had hoped… he had so _wanted_ …

“Castiel said you were doing okay… until I came along and dragged you back into Hunting. Though apparently I’d left you in peace for a year…asked everyone not to tell you I was back… I’m glad I did _that_ , at least… I’m glad I tried to keep you safe...”

He was still lying against Dean’s thigh, watching his brother’s face. He saw the look of sheer, intense, unadulterated… _fury_ that passed across it: he saw the way the Dean’s jaw set tightly, the way his nostrils flared and the way his lips thinned…and the way _both_ hands suddenly tightened this time, one white-knuckling on the wheel, the other removing abruptly from Sam’s hair before he caught it by accident in his fist once more… and then the moment had passed, and Dean was once again under control and his body became expressionless once more.

But his voice didn’t quite immediately get so emotionless: Sam could hear the aggression beneath his snapped response: “ _That_ what you think, eh, Sammy? Well, ain’t that peachy? Bobby can bitch all he wants, but if he had just fucking _told_ me… he’d have saved the _both_ of us a lot of heartache. _I_ knew that fucking thing wasn’t you…

Get some sleep! I’ll give it another couple of hours then look for a motel.”

Sam blinked at the sudden change of subject. Part of him wanted to argue and pursue what… ever could have happened to provoke that reaction in his brother… what _he_ must have done to cause such a response. But the rest of him was quite content to let it go… for the time being at least… and just stay comfortable and close to his brother, with his head resting on his leg. And he really wanted Dean to stroke his hair again. So he nodded and remained silent…

… but worried. That sudden loss of self-possession was so completely out of character for his usually under-control brother? What had he said to prompt it? And… more importantly… _why_ had it?

Sam _tried_ to stop himself from asking: he really did. But…

“I know that I’ve got to face a lot of things that I’ve done, Dean.” He tried to pick his words carefully. “I _know_ I have, and I’m dreading it: I really _am!_ But… it would help… if I _know_ what I’d done… if someone would tell me… so I can at least _start_ to try and put it right…”

There was such a long silence this time that Sam nearly gave up on trying to stay awake: obviously Dean simply wasn’t going to answer. But then his hand moved to rest on Sam’s shoulder instead as he rested on the seat against his thigh, his fingers tightening protectively against the strong muscles beneath the shirts, and just caressing the very tip of Sam’s long hair as it splayed out over the collars and tickled against the edges of his neatly-trimmed nails…

“You ain’t done _anything_ as far as _I’m_ concerned, Sam. So don’t you worry about _that_. And as for the _rest_ … well, we’ll deal with it together.

Just like we always have done.

‘Cos that’s what we do.”

 

 


	4. The First Victim

Sam? Come on, wake up: we’re at the motel.” And his brother was shaking his shoulder roughly, trying to get him to stir.

Sam half-opened his eyes just enough to decide that he didn’t like the light very much and closed them again, quite comfortably settled on his living pillow and unwilling to move. “Sam. Get _off_ , will you! I’ll go and get us a room.”

With a sigh, the younger man blearily tried again, wincing as the brightness from the now almost-setting sun lit the interior of the Impala with a last-gasp attempt at illumination, and began to try and sit up. “Where are we?”

“Just outside Pittsburgh.” And Dean was getting out of the car, stretching out his back with an audible cracking noise, and heading to the reception. Sam sat and waited for his return, yawning so many times that he had lost count by the time his brother was climbing back behind the wheel again. “Ours is the one on the end. You can just go on to bed if you want.”

“Nah.” As Dean drove the Impala to the parking space right in front of their room. “I think I’ll feel better after a shower. _And_ I’m hungry.”

“We’ve just gone past a diner: it’s close enough to walk back to. If you’re up to it… I mean…”

“I don’t need the hospital, Dean. But…” He hesitated, but he had to say it while he had the chance. “Thanks. For _everything_. You’ve got more reason to hate me than most… but thanks for sticking with me.

I _mean_ it.” As his brother turned to stare at him. “Everything I’ve done… everything I _haven’t_ done, Dean. You’re still here. That must mean _something_ …. that you haven’t just given up on me.”

He fell silent as Dean once again exited the car and moved to fetch both their bags, before going to unlock the door. He paused on the threshold as Sam joined him: “I’m your _slave_ , Sam. I don’t have a _choice_ but to be here.”

And with that he was going in the room.

At least the shower gave a warm, powerful spray, and Sam did feel a lot better after it. Despite being so upset about his brother’s comment. But… he hadn’t been wrong about the love in his brother’s eyes earlier… he had definitely seen _that_.

All he could do was give Dean time… and hope.

And… he had forgotten to bring his bag into the bathroom with him. Quickly he wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped back out into the main room. Dean glanced up from where he was kneeling on the floor as per his habit, working on his laptop which he had rested on the low coffee table… and hastily averted his eyes, a deep blush forming instantly to cover even round to the back of his head and the tips of his ears.

Sam couldn’t help but sigh. They had seen each other naked before… from all the years as brothers, to that too few short months as lovers. Hell, Dean probably knew every _inch_ of his body: he had explored Sam with his eyes… and his fingers… and his tongue… and now…? Now he obviously only felt embarrassment at the sight of his younger brother like this…

Although he wasn’t the only one getting red in the face. Sam hastily snatched up his bag from the single bed and held it in front of himself, as he registered the size of the tent he was now making in the towel at just the _thought_ of his brother’s tongue! God, the memories of what Dean could _do_ with that soft, warm, probing muscle of his…  He hastily backed once more into the bathroom as the towel began to lose the contest of staying in its position…

Even as Sam finished drying himself after yet another shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror as it slowly cleared from the condensation in the room. And it was enough for him to wipe it fully.

He hadn’t taken a lot of notice of how he had looked since he had woken up; it had been enough of a shock to find out what his body had been doing during his mind’s absence but… actually, he looked really good!

 _Really_ good.

He was toned; fit; there wasn’t a trace of fat on him; _or_ flab. And he was both superbly contoured and _covered_ in muscles: he was really ripped! Sam stared at himself in the mirror… He had always _dreamt_ of looking like this. At least the soulless version of himself had looked after himself health-wise: he… _it_ … must have worked hard, really hard to achieve this… perfection. He looked _amazing!_

Perhaps… maybe, perhaps… that was what had caused _Dean’s_ reaction as well…? When he had turned and blushed as he had seen Sam in a more than half-naked state. Because… once upon a time… he had _loved_ having his body covered by Sam’s strong, naked one… and Sam had loved being spread out beneath Dean’s as well. Perhaps his brother was _also_ remembering….?

There and then, Sam determined that he was going to make sure he kept _on_ looking like this… And he was going to make sure that Dean saw as much of it as possible as well!

But for now he hastily dressed and moved to join his brother in the main room, walking through in his bare feet and sitting on the floor beside where Dean knelt, trying to convince his long legs to fit in to the small space between the low table and the couch. “Anything interesting?”

Dean didn’t glance round this time. “There’s this: woman in one of the local suburbs. Found dead yesterday on her bed. You don’t need to humour me by sitting on the _floor!_ That’s what I _do_ , I always have. You don’t need to come down here _with_ me.”

Sam nudged him good-naturedly with his shoulder: “I want to. What’s strange about the death?”

His brother grunted. “She was all scrunched up: I mean _really_ scrunched up. Like she’d been shut in somewhere smaller than she was. And… she’d suffocated.”

“Suffocated?”

“Yep. But all signs seem to show that she died on the bed. On _top_ of the covers. And she was _alone_ in the house.”

Sam blinked. Then nodded: “We might as well take a look. First thing tomorrow. Ready for something to eat?”

He received another grunt as a response, but then Dean was turning the laptop off and getting easily to his feet. It was Sam’s turn to grunt as he quickly pulled on fresh socks, tried to get himself off the floor, and ended up having to use the sofa for support. “I don’t know how you can kneel like that for so long and still walk!”

His brother was already standing at the open door as Sam found his boots. “Practice. And habit. One that got beaten into me a long time ago. Ya’ready?”

“Yeah.”

As Dean had said, the diner was only a block down from the motel: even just at a strolling pace, they had easily reached it in ten minutes. Sam ordered grilled chicken and salad, while his brother ordered the special… and “What’s the pie for today, Mindy?”

The waitress with the corresponding name-badge flushed as she was given the full force of the ‘Dean Winchester’ smile, and promised a piece of both cherry _and_ apple…just for _him_. For which she received another smile that took her complexion well over the shade of beetroot.

Sam frowned at the older man as soon as she had gone to get their order: “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Dean. It’s demeaning… just for a free piece of pie.”

His brother regarded him momentarily, his smile completely disappeared. “I’ve done far worse things for far _less_ than a piece of pie. But… as you wish,… _master_.”

Sam stared back across the table in surprise: “No. No, I didn’t mean… I just…” But he was interrupted as Dean’s cell phone suddenly bleeped with a text. The other reached for the small device and looked at the screen, his eyebrows furrowing with a small frown. “Who’s that?”

“Nobody.” And his brother was pocketing the cell again and nodding at the waitress as their meal arrived. “Thanks, Mindy.” But it was only the briefest of smiles this time.

Sam tucked into his chicken with the realisation that he was incredibly hungry. But Dean only had a mouthful of his burger before he was checking his pocket again. _All_ his pockets. “What’s wrong?”

“I must have dropped my wallet back at the motel. I’ll go and get it: back in five…” And he was getting up from his seat.

“Leave it. I’ve got enough to pay…”

“I’ll get it anyway.” And he was going out through the diner’s glass entrance doors before Sam could blink. The younger man sighed and continued with his meal alone, while trying to ignore the disappointed face on the waitress who had watched the departure of the good-looking customer with definite regret. His brother was a hustler, one of the best: that was how John Winchester had brought him _up_ to be. Why had he got so assy just because Dean used it to get free food…?

Because he was flirting with her and not with _you_ , his mind scolded him. And you let your jealousy upset him: way to go, Sam.

He made up his mind to apologise as soon as his brother returned… but instead he got a text from Dean’s cell: ‘Going for a drink. Don’t wait up.’

Sam stared at it in consternation. Shit! He was being _ditched!_

He hurried to finish his meal, pausing only to ask for the two pieces of pie to be boxed, and all but ran back to the motel, relieved to see the Impala still parked out in front of their room.

But there was no sign of his brother.

Although when Sam let himself back in, he was surprised to see that there _were_ signs that, for some reason, Dean had had what must have been a very quick shower. And a shave. And the keys to the car were lying by his laptop…

The younger man momentarily thought about eating the pies in his frustration, but, instead, he sighed and settled down to work on his own laptop.

And wait.

Although, as Dean had indicated, he didn’t bother to return that night. Or even to the motel the next morning.

Eventually Sam had gotten beyond angry, and just left a message for Dean to meet him at the Coroner’s Office when they opened. He himself had arrived right on time, suited and booted in his ‘Fed’ disguise, but was left to kick his (polished) heels for a good forty minutes while a meeting was being held.

Which did _not_ improve his mood at _all_.

Dean finally arrived just before the weekly forum had finished, and was shown into the area where the younger man was by now pacing up and down. Sam barely glanced at him and instead turned away. “So, you’re back to your old tricks! Go off for the night with some… woman that you’ve only just met. I don’t know _why_ I was so surprised, I just…”

He shook his head at himself and finally got under enough control to look at his brother, absently noticing how weary he was looking and that he was holding himself with a slight stiffness as if in pain. “I just thought that _we_ were… I mean I hoped… I guess I just forgot what a slut you are…”

He was trying to make a joke, trying to not show how genuinely upset he had been at Dean’s abandonment of him. His brother chewed at his lower lip… but said nothing in response.

Then the Coroner was coming through, apologising for keeping the FBI waiting and showing them through to the mortuary: “I’ve never seen anything like this, gentlemen. There’s the pictures from the file that show how she was actually found…”

And indeed, just as the media report had indicated, Saskia Mitchell had died folded into herself as if contained in a cage that had been too small: her limbs pressed into her torso both physically and viciously; her face frozen in terror; her eyes _pleading_ …

“I’ve seen bodies disposed of in suitcases; all crushed up and discarded: the way she was found reminds me of those.” The Coroner was genuinely stunned. “But all the evidence, body fluids exuding at the moment of death, would seem to show that… she was on top of the bed! On her own! And she definitely suffocated… but by what…? I can find no evidence of any fibres, or… _anything!_ It’s as if she simply ran out of air in her lungs!”

The brothers read through the report and asked their questions, and came out of the mortuary convinced that they had indeed found a case.

“Where next?”

“Start with the husband.”

Martin Mitchell turned out to be totally stunned and stricken with grief… enough to be immediately discounted as having anything to do with his wife’s death. Sam made his excuses about needing to take a call, and went to check the bedroom where the woman had died, while Dean sat and went through their routine questions, quite effectively distracting the distraught man.

Although he was soon interrupted by the front door opening and a five nothing in height, long-haired female brunette was erupting into the living room, accompanied by two young children: “We’re home! Go and get washed up for lunch, you two…. Oh, sorry!” And she was pausing in her tracks, looking Dean up and down with a lot of interest, as the youngsters ran off upstairs.

“Jay, this is the FBI. They’ve got a few more questions. Agent…”

“Bonham.”

“Agent Bonham: this is Saskie’s best friend, Jayden Panietti… I mean, she _was_ Sas’s….” And he was dissolving once more into tears.

“I’ve come down to take care of these two, and to help Marty of course…” And she was moving to shake Dean’s hand even while her dark eyes were undressing him. “I can’t believe what’s happened… ooh, and who are _you?_ ”

This was addressed to Sam, who had just returned from making his overly long ‘phone-call’.  He turned almost completely white as the petite dark-haired woman almost flung herself at him, running her fingers against his chest without any concerns about propriety at all: “Is that true? About large hands meaning large…?”

“Jay! Behave yourself!” But Martin was laughing at her despite his tears. “You’re _incorrigible!_ Even at a time like this!”

“You know me, Marty! Always on the lookout for husband number three!” And she was laughing as well, although still clinging on to Sam as she did. “How much do FBI agents make a year?”

“I thought you’d _found_ number three two weeks ago!?”

“I did,” and she was winking at both her best friend’s husband, _and_ the brothers. “But I’ve got to get him away from his mouse of a _wife_ first! Doesn’t mean I can’t play in the meantime!” And her hands were sliding up to be around the tall young man’s shoulders, forcing her petite body right up against his as she did…

Sam disentangled himself from her grasp, his face now burning with embarrassment. And he couldn’t bring himself to look across at his brother: he didn’t _dare_.

Although he could _hear_ his opinion in the deep voice as Dean returned to the seriousness of the occasion: “This is my partner, ma’am: Agent Page. _So_ … can _you_ tell us anything about what’s happened, Mrs Panietti?”

“Miss. I returned to my single name, and my designation…” The flirtation was aimed in _his_ direction again now, but:

“Your best friend’s dead, _Miss_ Panietti. I doubt _she_ cared, and neither do I.”

The tiny brunette quietened immediately, suitably chastened by the clipped, scornful tone of the ‘agent’, and sat down next to Martin to answer the older brother’s final few questions: there was an obviously strong friendship between them but nothing more, not that either brother could see anyway. When they were ready to leave, she offered to show them both out while the newly bereaved widower went to see to his children.

“I _am_ really shocked.” She whispered to Dean as she opened the front door. “I’m sorry you think I’m acting irreverently. Sas was my best friend, I just can’t believe what’s happened: it was only two weeks ago that we were all together at the school reunion, having an amazing time…”

“All together?”

“The four of us… we were inseparable at school: we all grew up together… the other two are coming down for the funeral. I just… can’t believe that she’s… how could that have happened?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. But if you think of anything that could help, please let us know.”

“Oh… and here’s my number. In case you need to contact me as well. I’m here to support Marty. _And_ the children: as long as he needs me…”  And she was moving to hand Dean her card.

“My partner will take it, ma’am.” And he was turning away to walk to the impala, leaving a still slightly pink in the face Sam to take the business card… and a lustful wink. He hurried to join his brother.

“What the hell was that about?” He could hardly contain himself as he pulled the passenger door closed behind him.

“I thought you might be interested. She’s definitely your type.”

“My type? What the hell does that mean?” Although Sam already knew: he had almost had a heart attack when he had come into that living room and seen… a woman who for one frightening moment he had thought was _Ruby_ laughing at him…. And he knew that Dean would have immediately noticed the similarity of the woman as well, but… he still needed to hear him say it.

His brother didn’t even look round as he started the engine. “You know.  Small; dark-haired; egocentric; self-absorbed; manipulative. A _Bitch_. Just what you always go for.”

“I…” But Sam didn’t know how to respond momentarily, because he could still hear the emotion in Dean’s voice at just the _thought_ of the demon. And at what Sam had done because of her. “Jess wasn’t small, she was _tall_. And blonde!” was all he could mumble as an eventual response.

The green eyes glanced his way as Dean’s eyebrows raised… but he said nothing, his mind being already on other things: “Find anything upstairs?”

“Just this.” And Sam was pulling a small object out of his pocket and depositing it in the older man’s lap.

“Jesus! Get that thing away from me!”

Despite himself, Sam chuckled and reached to take the hex bag away. “It was in her handbag. But it’s a strange bag, must be the fashion: there’s only a single clasp in the middle at the top that closes the two sides together, so there’s a large gap left either side even when done up. You’d think things would fall out if it were to be picked up upside-down… but it also means that something like this could have been easily pushed in: it would only have taken a second to introduce it without being seen.”

“So it could have been anyone?”

“Anyone who could have got close enough to simply drop it in, and Saskia Mitchell would have been walking around with the own weapon of her death… in her _own_ handbag… just waiting for the spell to be cast.”

“Fucking terrific.” Dean grunted. Sam held his breath in gleeful anticipation of his older brother’s next words. “Why does it have to be witches? I fucking _hate_ witches!”

They spent the rest of that day, and the next two, interviewing everyone they could think of: friends; work-colleagues; other mothers at the children’s school, but nobody seemed to have a motive worth killing a woman and mother of two for.

Although she certainly wasn’t well liked, _despite_ her husband’s declaration that everybody loved her. It would appear that she was very similar to her good friend Jayden Panietti in that her _only_ main interest in life… was _herself_. She had been inconsiderate, intolerant, rude to the point of being openly cruel and by all accounts, incredibly selfish… and very few people actually seemed to be upset at her demise.  Because, although more than one interviewee expressed _shock_ at the suddenness of her death, there was hardly any _sorrow_ at the news… really, there was _none..._  not at _all!_

Eventually though, the brothers’ just couldn’t do any more. They had established that she had been murdered, but by whom…? Or why? And nothing else had happened in the meantime to give them any more clues… so…

They decided to head back to Bobby’s, and chalk Saskia Mitchell’s death up as an unsolved case...

For the time being, at least.

It was still a two day drive back to Sioux Falls, so the brothers took turns behind the wheel. On the final stretch it was once again Dean’s turn. They had mostly driven in silence…and not the comfortable one that they once had shared.

But then, they hadn’t had _that_ for a very, very long time…

Sam was half-asleep, his head resting against the window, just staring out at the landscape as it started to become familiar. As it began to feel like ‘almost home’. But then… the reaction of Bobby to him since he had been back… or at least, since his _soul_ had been back… hadn’t been good. The old man certainly _hadn’t_ welcomed him back. His mind began to wander again over what he could possibly have done…

And how the hell he was going to even _begin_ to put it right.

His thoughts were interrupted by his brother’s cell phone ringing. Dean fished in his pocket and brought it to his ear without taking his eyes off the road. “Hello?”

His face changed within a moment, his eyes going wide momentarily: “Who? I…? How the _hell_ did you get this number? I… Wait.” And he was glancing across at Sam, his expression giving nothing away, and pulling the car over to the side of the road.

“Who is it….?” But Sam’s question was ignored as his brother simply got out of the Impala and walked away with the phone to his ear, his back deliberately held to the younger man. All Sam could do was sit and wait. With increasing impatience.

It wasn’t actually as long as it had seemed to Sam before Dean was snapping the cell away and returning to his seat, and sitting for a long moment with his hands on the steering wheel, frowning a little and obviously deep in thought. “Well…?”

“Well, what?”

“Who was that?”

“Nobody important. Forget about it.”

“It obviously wasn’t nothing. _Tell_ me.”

Dean straightened up where he sat, and went to start the engine: “It’s… I was just surprised, that’s all. Nothing for you to be worried about…” And he was glancing in the rear mirror and smoothly pulling the Impala back on to the road.

“Well, that just makes me _more_ worried! Who was it? What did they want?”

“What I said, Sam…” And Dean was sounding slightly weary. “It’s nothing. It _was_ nothing: it _is_ nothing…. End of.”

Sam sat and pouted a little. “Is it something to do with me? What I’ve done?”

His brother sighed audibly, but his reply was simple: “Not everything’s about _you_ , Sam. And like I said… this is _nothing_.”

Sam was abashed: he felt that he had just been reprimanded. And… he wasn’t convinced. There was something about his brother’s reaction as he had heard…whoever’s…. voice at the other end of that call… But Dean wasn’t going to tell him and he had to try to respect that.

At least until he could get the other man’s cell phone and try to trace the call.

They finished the journey, as before, in silence. But now even _that_ had changed slightly. They were both relieved when Bobby’s house finally came into view, and the Impala pulled up in front of it, disturbing the dirt and gravel with a low rumbling purr.

The old man came out to greet them and stood for a moment as the brothers both exited the car and moved to grab their bags from the rear: “How you both doing?”

“Tired,” Dean admitted. “That was a long drive.”

“And dirty,” Sam added. “I need a shower.”

“And hungry.” Dean continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I could eat some pie. You got any pie?”

“No, I ain’t got _pie_ , boy…!” Bobby’s face was a picture. Sam grinned.

Dean sighed: “I guess I’ll go and get some then… Want anything, Sam?”

The younger man shook his long locks:” Just that shower.”

“Okay then.” And Dean was throwing his duffel back into the back of the car momentarily, getting back into the Impala and driving off again.

Sam sighed and started to head inside the house with his own single bag of luggage: “I don’t know why he just didn’t pick some up as we came through the town: we came straight past the store…”

He didn’t notice Bobby’s sudden reaction: the way the old man abruptly looked round at him… and controlled himself with a deep breath to finally ask calmly… “I was trying to get Dean earlier… did he get a call or text at all…?”

“Huh, yeah,” Sam was nearly through the door. “But it wasn’t from you… although Dean wouldn’t tell me _who_ it was… Is it okay for me to go on up?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Sure, boy, whatever.”

Sam glanced at him, surprised at the abrupt indifference now in the tone… but then reflected that he was still very _much_ in Bobby’s bad books. Sensibly, he kept silent and crept into the house to disappear upstairs for a while. Despite feeling quite upset about the obvious dismissal.

Bobby remained outside, his attention focused on the decreasing trail of dust on the dirt road that led to his house….

And his thoughts on the man who was inside the receding car…

… And a single tear ran down his cheek.


	5. I Need Your Help

Dean steered the Impala into the truck stop just outside Sioux Falls, and looked for somewhere out of the way to park. _Well_ out of the way to park.

He couldn’t believe he was here… meeting…

_Him._

There was a large advertising billboard just off the road, set deliberately to give the perfect view for drivers as they approached the town, and set behind it was a clear, if rapidly becoming overgrown area that would make a good, well- _concealed_ , meeting spot.

Just as he had been told on the phone.

With a sigh, Dean made his way across to it, glancing around as he went to try and ensure that no one was watching. And he stood and waited…

But… as it turned out… not for long.

Because the other was already there, stepping out from the shadow of the billboard where he had been for quite some time, in anticipation of Dean turning up.

And the Hunter stared at him, still incredulous.

It wasn’t often that Dean Winchester found himself _speechless_ , but…

… there had to be a first time for everything.

The two just stood momentarily and stared at each other.

And then the baby in the other’s arms wriggled and began to cry, and reached for Dean as it recognised him. And despite himself, he was stretching his arms out instinctively to take it from its father’s hands. For… it was an ‘it’, despite looking like a normal little boy.

Even though the last time he had _seen_ ‘Bobby John’, the child had had _dark_ skin.

Dean stared at the now Chinese-looking baby, with a wispy mass of dark hair, shining black irises and red lips. And at his… (because he just _couldn’t_ think of such a human-looking child as an ‘it’)… father.

Even if it was a shapeshifter.

The _Alpha_ Shapeshifter.

Even as the approximately twelve month old boy began to play with the buttons on his leather jacket, Dean managed to find his voice…

“I thought you were dead? Isn’t that the word amongst the demons: that Crowley’s been crowing about how he killed you? With a machete, wasn’t it?”

“Purl _eeease_ …” And the Alpha was smiling with genuine amusement. “That imbecilic, self-proclaimed ‘King of Hell’? I’ve walked this Earth for thousands of years before he was even just another tadpole in his father’s semen: I’ll walk it years after he’s been turned into nothing more than ash!”

Dean blinked and automatically adjusted the wriggling child in his arms to a better hold, twisting his wrist around as he did to show him the ever-moving second hand of his watch. The boy squealed with pleasure as his chubby fingers tried, unsuccessfully, to catch it through the glass case. “Wow… you’re more poetic than I remember, anyway! That’s… put quite an _image_ in my head should I ever see Crowley again…

But how _did_ you survive…?”

The other grinned: “Shape _shifter!?_ The clue’s in the _name?!_ The idiot took his eyes for me for just an instant… it was all I needed! I ‘adjusted’ myself so my brain was in my body, and my ‘head’ was just another appendage… I could grow twenty more arms all at once if I needed to… I only _usually_ keep to normal human shapes because it would attract _so_ much attention otherwise….”

“So he basically just cut your arm off, then?”

“Near enough. I let myself fall as if dead, then as soon as he had gone, just transformed into something… un-noticeable… and _slipped_ away… “

“Slipped away as…?” The Alpha smirked at him. Dean snorted. “I get it. _Shape_ shifter. The clue’s in the name…”

“Exactly. But at least that black-suited, red-eyed asshole thinks I’m dead. And I’m happy for it to stay that way for the time being.”

“Which brings us to why we’re here?” Dean reminded him. “Or more importantly: why _I’m_ here! Because… I’ve seen and done some things… but getting a phone call from… someone like _you_ ….? That’s a new one. Even for me!”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For referring to me as ‘someone’, Dean. You probably wouldn’t understand… but that means a lot. I’m not a _thing_. None of us are! _But!”_ And he was clapping his hands suddenly, making the child start in surprise in Dean’s arms. The dark almost jet-coloured eyes immediately filled with tears and he gave a little wailing cry…

“Hey. _Hey!_ ”And the human was instantly distracting him, play-bouncing the boy up and down as he held him tightly in his arms, his whole body suddenly pretending to jerk downwards with a one, two, three… _drop!_ game, that had the baby chuckling and giggling again within moments. “D, da, d…” he babbled happily, and readied himself for more, watching Dean intently for the next turn.

“You’re good with him. I knew you were. And you would have protected him with your life the last time we met… I _know_ you would have… but you let me take him, to save _him_. That’s why I’m here. Because I need help. I need someone to look after him for a few days.

And you’re the only one I trust enough to ask.”

Dean paused in his play and stared at the Alpha, much to the child’s dismay from the frustrated sound he made: “Say what?”

“I need _help_ , Dean Winchester. And… I know this is unorthodox… but I _trust_ you. You’re the only one I _do_. Please will you look after my son for a few days?”

He returned Dean’s incredulous glance at him with a completely steady gaze. The child broke the stunned silence by trying to get the human’s attention on him again by the (to a baby) extremely obvious method of clutching physically at Dean’s slightly parted lips and clamping on to the lower one tightly with his fingers. “D, da, da, da, ma, dah!”

Dean blinked with surprise. Then he blinked at the Alpha as if in disbelief.

 _Then_ he blew a noisy raspberry through the delighted child’s chubby digits, reducing him to a quivering, giggling wreck in his arms who immediately reached to put both his hands back over the human’s mouth for more: chuckling and chortling with every new obscene noise that delightfully tickled through his fingers, his hysterical giggles punctuating the rest of the adult’s conversation.

“Don’t you have… your _own_ kind that you can ask?”

The Alpha sighed loudly at him, but deigned to explain: “Thanks to Crowley. And to _your_ … _family_.” The word was all but spat at the ground. “Most are dead, or well in hiding. _This_ little one only survived because I hadn’t managed to get him to the crèche with the rest before they were discovered. That bastard demon had them _all_ killed.” His distress and sorrow seemed genuine.

“One of my older sons was taking him there, when he saw what was happening. He just had time to hide… Bobby-John: that’s what you called him, isn’t it?... before he himself was slaughtered. I have a link to _all_ my chidren… I’m an Alpha, _and_ their father, after all… once I’d got away myself, at least I was able to find him.

But it’s still not safe out there. I need to find somewhere safe to take him. For us both! But what with demons watching everywhere, and your damn _grandfather…_ ”

“He’s no relation of _mine_.” Dean had retorted before he had thought if it were sensible to. “He ain’t _nothing_ to do with me.”

But the Alpha only nodded in agreement: “You’re nothing like the rest of your family. And be glad of that because it’s a _complement_ , Dean.  I _mean_ it. They call _us_ monsters, but they’re the _real_ ones. And… your kid brother’s the _worst_ …”

He paused as if expecting an explosion of disagreement, but Dean remained silent. “Did you… ever… wonder whether… Samuel Campbell had been brought back from… _Heaven_ … like he claimed? Or…?”

“Whether he’d simply been raised up from _Hell?_ ” And Dean was meeting his eyes squarely, the baby momentarily forgotten to his immediate grumbles of disgust. “Yeah. My _first_ thought… and every damned one ever since. I ain’t proud of being related to him. Not in _any_ way. And the Campbell’s definitely are _not_ … _my_ … _family_.”

“And your brother?”

“My brother’s _my_ problem. _You’re_ not to touch him.”

The Alpha shapeshifter regarded the now furious green eyes, nodded, and deliberately chose his next words with great care: “It’s not just _us_ that he’s been hurting. I understand that he’s treated _you_ … shall we say… extremely _badly_ … since his foray into Hell…

I’ve been watching you with great interest since we last met… and I don’t like what’s he’s done, Dean.

Sam Winchester _truly_ is a monster of the _worst_ kind, Dean. _Please_ be careful of him.

I do sincerely _mean_ that.

And please… do not let _him_ anywhere near my son. Or _any_ of the Campbells.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the now sleepy baby snottily wiping his nose on Dean’s shirt and trying to snuggle his head against his chest: the human automatically adjusting his hold yet again to let him settle without _once_ taking his sharp stare off the Alpha.

“This is _crazy!_ I’m a _Hunter!_ And you’re asking me to look after a baby _shapeshifter!_ That’s _unheard_ of!”

The alpha snorted slightly: “You’d be surprised.”

There was another silence, while Dean shifted Bobby-John to rest against his shoulder. “Why me?”

“Because I trust you. And that’s not a lie, Dean: you’re a good man. And I know that you’re a human… but you’re a _good_ one. _All_ of us know that.

 _You’d_ keep him safe…or, at least you’d _try_. And _he_ likes you as well: _look_ at him! I think he’d _cry_ if I tried to take him back from you…

I just need to know he’s safe while I sort out somewhere for us both to hide.

I’m asking you… _begging_ you, Dean Winchester: Hunter; human; and good man… to help me.

Please.”

Dean sighed. When had he become such a sucker? It was no wonder all the Campbell’s had looked down on him with such derision right from the first meeting… but then…

… at least he wasn’t _anything_ like those fucking obnoxious, sneering, murdering bastards. And he would never _want_ to be either.

“Okay.” Even _he_ couldn’t believe that he was going to do this. “But one problem. At the moment, he and I ain’t exactly going to pass for father and son! Different skin tones, for a start!”

“I’ve been teaching him. And given him some of my blood.” And the Alpha was stepping forward to shake his hand with obvious relief in his face.

“You what?”

The cold grey eyes met his. “I’ve been feeding him some of my blood. I thought: if only a few drops from a demon can do so much, then what would mine do to my own offspring? Or a human perhaps…?” He smirked a little. “One day, I might try it: find someone to test it out on… Just to see.”

His smile faded at the sudden unpleasantness in the green eyes staring back at him: “You… _ever_ … do that, and I’ll chop you into so many tiny pieces that you _won’t_ crawl away this time. Capiche?”

“Understood. But… young Bobby here has  _certainly_ benefitted… Here…” And he was nudging his already nearly sound asleep son and showing the dark bleary eyes as they opened briefly, an old photograph of a smiling beautiful blonde-haired woman posing with her arms proudly around a young boy who had dazzling green eyes…

“Where the hell did you get _that?_ ” And Dean was snatching the picture of his mother back. “What the _fuck…!”_

The Alpha grinned at him: “Same place I got your number…”

And the human had a sudden recollection from the previous month: when he had discovered that an abnormally large raccoon had _somehow_ got into the Impala when he was filling her up with fuel, and it had run off again without seeming to be afraid of him at all…

And the _glovebox_ had somehow been opened at the same time…

But his anger was cut short as the little boy in his arms, even while nearly asleep,  suddenly and smoothly altered his appearance from the previous Chinese physical characteristics to become the image, albeit a baby version, of Dean _himself_ as he had been in that photograph. “What the…?”

“It’s better, isn’t it? No more goop! No more residue of skin. Nothing left behind to trace. The amazing power of my blood: just _imagine…!”_ He turned serious momentarily. “I owe you a huge favour for this, Dean Winchester. All his stuff’s in a car parked in the stop.” And he was handing the human some keys and turning away. “I stole it in Idaho, so you might want to get rid of it in case… I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.

And thank you, Dean. I _mean_ that.”

Even as he was speaking, the Alpha had already reached the thicker undergrowth that grew around the edges of the clearing. As he stepped through the shrubbery and behind it, his shape was already changing: becoming shorter as if shrinking, transforming, becoming something else… that moved the bushes and small trees as he passed, but that Dean could no longer see…

“For…!” but he contained what he wanted to say as he glanced at the angelic face of the now soundly asleep blonde-haired child resting against his shoulder. “How the hell do I always get myself into these situations? How am I expected to keep _you_ safe, when I can’t even do that for _me?_

Come on then.” And he was heading back towards the truck stop, clicking the key fob as he went until a blue car’s headlights flashed back at him in response. Quickly, Dean grabbed out the child seat and the couple of large bags of ‘essentials’ that every parent seemed to have to carry with them at all times, and headed back to the Impala.

“We’ll have to find somewhere to lay really low.” As he transferred the chair into the rear of his car, and the sleeping child safely into its seat…  “And your dad had better hurry up. He’s really gonna owe me for this!”

He was ready to go, but without any idea of where to.

But since when did Dean Winchester _ever_ had any idea of _that?_

Only one last thing to do: quickly he sent Bobby a text: _Back in few days. Don’t worry_.

His cell immediately bleeped with a response: _I’ll never forgive him for this, boy._

Dean sighed as he read it. Just for this once, the old man was wrong about what he thought was going on… but there was no _way_ that Dean was going to try and start explaining what _was_ happening! Eventually he just settled for texting back: _Please try, Bobby. It wasn’t him. You know it wasn’t. Please let it go. It’s done anyway._

Then Dean’s heart broke even more than it already was, as he received one last message before he pulled the Impala out of the truck stop:

_And I’ll never forgive myself, neither._

 


	6. Talk To Me, Dean

Sam was waiting by Bobby’s front door as soon as he heard the purr of the Impala approaching, and hurried to meet his brother. “Did you and Rufus get the… _Really?_ Was it a Sasquatch? A real _Sasquatch!_ That’s what Bobby said when he went rushing off: that Rufus had called you for help, and you had called _him_ … Why did neither of you wait for _me?_ ”

Dean blinked: thank god he had read Bobby’s text before returning to the house! The old man had contacted him to say that he didn’t want to stay on his own with Sam while Dean was away, so he and Rufus had actually gone fishing instead…

Why had _he_ had the bad luck to return first? “Nah: it turned out to be just a plain, old, ordinary murder, set up to try and pin the blame on something in the forest… nothing interesting. And someone had to stay here to man the phones. Just in case.”

“Yeah…I guess.” Sam wasn’t fooled. ”Why did you turn your cell off though? I wanted to track it… just in case you needed me.” He added hastily.

Dean grunted as he pulled his bag out from the rear of the car and headed for the house. “Nowhere to charge it up, so I just saved what battery I had in case. The signal was rubbish anyway.”

“Yeah… okay.” It was no use. He had to ask. He had to _try_. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” He had almost made it to the door.

“If…? If… you’re ditching me because… of what I’ve done? And I _know_ I’ve done _something_. Don’t keep lying to me, Dean. _Please!_ “

His brother paused and looked back. Sam was still standing beside the Impala, looking… like a lost little child. With puppy-dog eyes. Despite himself, Dean sighed: damn those puppy-dog eyes! “Look, Sam…”

But he was saved by Bobby’s truck pulling into the yard and coming to a rest beside the Impala, raising a choking cloud of dust as it did. Sam couldn’t help but cough, flapping his hand in front of his face as he tried to catch his breath even as the old man exited the vehicle.

“Hey boy! Got the coffee on yet?”

But the look he was giving Dean belied the laughter in his voice: it was one of questioning, and far-too-close-to-the-surface anger for the other man’s liking, and complete and total worry and concern. All Dean could do was give a nod back, and try and convey without words that he was okay. “On my way, Bobby!”

And Sam was sighing, once his eyes had stopped watering, as the moment had been lost.

But he would fucking well corner Dean later!

But instead an unusual murder in Paterson, New Jersey caught their attention and they went to investigate it. Sam was hopeful that he could get his brother to talk to him on the way, but to his disappointment, Dean seemed to be quite tired for some reason, and settled himself against the passenger door to try and sleep for a lot of the journey.

And then the both of them were sighing as Dean received a call from an anxious Ben. Sam felt genuine pain and guilt on seeing the look on his brother’s face as he was speaking to the boy… to his possible _son_. Dean so obviously _loved_ him. _And_ his mother.

Why the _hell_ couldn’t he, Sam, have just left them alone?

Even though it would have broken his heart to not be able to see Dean any more… he would have missed him both as his brother _and_ in the way he so _wanted_ to see him, which was naked and in his _own_ bed. But he would have settled for Dean… not matter _what_ he had said to try and ease Sam’s conscience about losing his new little family… he would have settled for his brother being happy, or as happy as he could be.

And safe.

Although he was as worried as Dean as what might have been happening: Ben was definitely giving them both the impression that Lisa might be possessed by something. Sam wished that he could go with him to check…

 _And_ he wished that Dean would just _talk_ to him.

By the time they had met up again, just a couple of days later, Dean had barely escaped death at the wheels of his own beloved Baby which had been possessed by the vindictive Rose, the both of them were upset at not being able to prevent her sister’s death… and Sam could see how unhappy his brother was at whatever had happened at Lisa’s and Ben’s.

He just about got the bare details from him during a meal at the local diner, but that had been enough for Sam to make up his mind. “Go back to them, Dean. Ben obviously is desperate for you to. I won’t bother you, I promise.”

His brother didn’t even look up from where he was picking miserably at his fries: which in itself was a cause of worry for the younger man. “I attacked him when I got turned, Sam: that ain’t just going to be forgotten.”

“But he didn’t know you were a… vampire…” Sam’s words stalled momentarily. That revelation had shaken him above all the others so far: that he had actually just _watched_ … and according to Dean, _smirked_ … as his brother had been held down and turned. “And now you’re not.”

“So with that logic, he must think I attacked him as _me!_ That’s _worse_ , Sam. And it’s too late, anyway.”

“It’s not too late, Dean! Whatever Ben thought about what happened, he misses you. He wouldn’t have rung and invented that story if he hadn’t! Go back to them, Dean. I…” Sam had to stop talking as tears suddenly sprang to his eyes. He didn’t want this: he didn’t want to lose his brother, but this wasn’t about _him_. “They need you….”

“Damn it, Sam! You’re not listening! Why won’t you ever just _listen_ to me! It’s too _late!_ It’s _over!_ Leave it alone, for fucks sake!”

And Dean was pushing his still only half-eaten meal away, scraping his chair roughly backwards across the floor with the force from the anger now in his body and voice, and storming out of the diner, abandoning his slightly shaken younger brother to silently pay the bill and follow him back to their motel.

Sam still didn’t know what to say when he let himself back into the room, although he momentarily panicked at there initially being no sign of his brother, but he immediately relaxed a little upon realising Dean was in the bathroom. Carefully Sam made his way across to his bed to sit and wait for the other’s reappearance.

It was only a few minutes before Dean was emerging, his face obviously freshly scrubbed clean from tears although his eyes were still red-rimmed. He paused as soon as he saw the younger man and took a deep breath: “I didn’t mean to shout at you, Sam. It’s just…”

“I know. And I’m glad you did: I deserve a _lot_ of shouting at! I’m… I’m _so_ sorry, Dean.”

“S’done, Sam.”

He moved to go across to his own bed but Sam began to stop him, reaching out with his hand before faltering and retracting it. Dean stood and waited.

“Let me hold you tonight?” Sam’s face was flushing now and he was looking down at his own long, denim-covered legs. “Nothing more. I just… miss you in my arms. I always have. Let me hold you tonight. Please.”

“Sa-am.” It was a sigh.

“Nothing else. I _swear_.” And he was smiling up at the older man, deliberately pleading with his eyes: a smile that turned into a full-on dimpled grin as Dean snorted a little despite himself, went to check the outer door was locked securely and the previously laid salt lines were intact, and tentatively approached his brother where he was still sitting on the bed.

Sam hastily moved up as Dean sat down beside him to remove his boots: he wondered if anything else might be removed but then his brother was sliding beneath the covers still fully clothed. The younger man bit down a disappointed sigh and hurried to join him, also kicking off his shoes before going around the base of the bed to climb in the other side: Dean having made it obvious by where he had lain, that he was staying on the side nearest the door no matter what.

But which way round didn’t matter as Sam slid his arms around his brother, one slipping across his body while the other moved to allow Dean to be able to lay his head against his bicep. “This okay?” as he resisted the temptation to surreptitiously allow his fingers to creep beneath the older man’s shirts.

The only response was a grunt, but at least Dean didn’t pull away.

They lay in silence for a long time.

Sam didn’t want to break it… but… “I don’t want to say this: I don’t want to lose you. But… I’d let you go, I’d leave you alone. It’s not too late…”

There was no response.

“Dean…? I know you’re not asleep.”

“Do you want me to stay in this bed or not, Sam?”

The abruptness with which he had spoken startled the younger man… but on reflection… he definitely didn’t want to let go of his brother, not when he had him like this. “Sorry.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Kay.” He impossibly tightened his arms so that Dean found his full length pressed solidly back into Sam’s strong, firm chest and long legs. “Night, jerk.”

“Yeah, yeah, bitch.”

And Sam laughed and kissed the back of his brother’s neck, just below the line of soft, short hair, before he had realised what he had done. He tensed, expecting Dean to try and pull away. “Sorry,” this time the words were little more than a mumble.

But instead, the older man just remained silent.

Sam waited in anticipation, but then, when there seemed to be no forthcoming reaction, dared to take the chance to lean his head forward again: close enough that his lips were just touching the warm skin in front and he knew his warm breath would be tickling the back of his brother’s neck. This time he tried to settle off to sleep, but his guilt was still too strong… “If you want to go back to them, then we can fix this. If that’s what you want, then we’ll find a way. It’s not too _late_ , Dean.”

Sam was all but fully asleep when Dean finally responded: he was hardly aware of it… and in the morning, just as the older man had intended, he would probably only think that he had dreamed the words anyway… “Yeah it is, Sammy. It _is_ too late. Nothing can go back to what it was… Not ever now.”

And Dean was moving his hand to covering Sam’s where it was resting against his own abdomen, wrapped lovingly around his waist.

And despite his promise to himself, that he was _done_ shedding tears over a situation that he couldn’t change…

Dean held on tightly to Sam…

… and cried.


	7. Although I Really Wish You Hadn't.

Sam wasn’t surprised the next morning when he awoke and Dean wasn’t in the bed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.

He sat up with a yawn and looked around the room, but there was no sign of his brother… and as he got out of bed and checked through the drapes to the parking lot, nor was there any sign of the damaged Impala. With a sigh, Sam headed for the bathroom to have a shower and change from his, now slightly sticking to him, yesterday’s clothing into clean.

He heard the outer door open as he was drying himself, and became aware of the strong satisfying aroma of freshly ground coffee filtering through the motel room even into where he was. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

“Okay,” Came a reply in the recognisable deep voice of his brother.

Sam hurried to dress, pulling his boxers and jeans on in the bathroom but intentionally taking his shirts out to put on in the main room. He tried to keep up his practised air of innocence as Dean glanced at his sculpted, naked chest, and once again blushed a little before returning to his breakfast. “I’ve brought a selection of muffins: surely _one_ of them will pass your definition of ‘healthy’. And coffee.”

“Thanks.” Sam took the take-out cup he was offered, and made sure to emphasise his pleasure at the taste of the almost scalding hot liquid inside it, aware of the green eyes watching from beneath their long lashes. “What’s the plan for today?”

He wished he hadn’t spoken when Dean’s attention turned fully away from him to instead focus on a bag that was lying beside the unused bed. “Mending my Baby. I’ve talked the mechanic down the road into letting me use his repair shop. I’ve been working on her since it opened: she ain’t as bad as she looked last night, shouldn’t take too much longer. I just needed a few things from here.” And he was fishing in the bag, pulling out a couple of tools ready to take with him, and once again moving to leave.

“I’ll check the internet then, and see what’s around…”

Dean just nodded, and then had pulled the door open once more and was gone, leaving Sam with slight goose-bumps as the fresh morning air hit the still bare skin of his top half. It had been worth it though, he decided, as he pulled on his tee and over shirts: his brother had _definitely_ noticed. With a sigh, he reached for his laptop….

It took Dean the rest of the morning and a little into the afternoon to fully be satisfied that the Impala was as perfect as she had been before the previous night’s events. He drove her back to the motel to find Sam all but wearing a groove in the threadbare carpet in the motel room. “What’s wrong?”

“Read this.”

Dean took the offered laptop over to the table in the corner and sat to view the screen: it was already set to show a police bulletin site that the brothers often hacked into, which contained a list of the nation’s more serious ongoing enquiries, and constantly updated them as more information came in on each. “Which one?”

“That one.”

Dean clicked to see the indicated number: “Female, Jayden Panietti, 28, found dead on the couch in her living room, ripped to pieces. Probable wild animal attack, but all doors and windows were closed and locked from the inside. No sign of any large creature at scene. Investigation ongoing.

 _Wait!_ Jayden _Panietti?_ Isn’t that your new favourite little bitch…? The brunette at Saskia Mitchell’s place?”

“She’s not _my_ little bitch! I mean… she’s not _anything_ : _I_ was disgusted by her behaviour as well, Dean! And I’m certainly not interested in someone like that! I _know_ I…“ Sam paused as he caught the slight glint in the older man’s eyes and visibly forced himself to calm down. “That’s beside the point anyway…. _She’s_ dead as well!”

“Yeah.” And Dean resisted the temptation to keep tormenting his brother and instead re-read the scant information. “Again on her own… Again looks impossible. You think our witch has struck again?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“Let’s pack up and get going.”

It didn’t take long to pull their meagre belongings together: neither of them had much and they were both well used to leaving a motel room at a moment’s notice. But before they could, there was an interruption.

Accompanied by the sound of a flurry of wings.

“Hello Dean. And Sam, of course.”

“Hey Cas, What can we do for you?” And Dean was greeting his friend with a smile. And receiving just as warm a smile in return.

“I just wanted to check in with you. And see if Sam’s…rehabilitation… was going alright. I went to Bobby’s, but he told me that you were investigating a case here. How is it going?”

“It’s all done, Cas.” And Sam was trying to get the angel’s intent attention away from his brother. Or for him to at least take a step _away_ from Dean and not be right up in his face. He shouldn’t feel jealous of Castiel: he _knew_ he shouldn’t feel jealous of him… but he did.

Because he always got the uneasy impression that the angel wouldn’t even notice if he left the room. And that somehow he had a communication… even some sort of _bond_ … with his brother that Sam wasn’t a part of. And Sam didn’t like _anybody_ getting that close to Dean…not unless it was _him_.

But at least Castiel was turning to him at his response to the question. “You have dealt with the problem here? Does that mean you are returning to Bobby’s?”

“Why the interrogation, Cas? What’s going on?” And Sam was pleased to note his brother stepping angrily away from the angel even as he was snapping the questions.

But Castiel simply looked surprised and almost too innocent. “I was merely enquiring as to where I will be able to find you should I need to. And should you need _me_ for anything… I will always be available.”

The brothers exchanged a look. But said nothing.

“Anyway, no, we’re not going back to Bobby’s yet.” Sam finally broke the silence and was already moving to unpack his laptop so he could show Castiel the new case. “We think this is connected with a woman’s death previously… and somewhere a witch is involved…

He was interrupted by a knock at the motel room door.

As the nearest to it, Dean moved to peer through the peephole. Both the other’s attention were caught as he noticeably paled and rested his head briefly against the door, eyes closing momentarily in despair.

“Dean? What is it?” “Dean? Shit, are you okay?” They both spoke simultaneously, and with equal concern.

But even as Sam started towards his brother, the other straightened up and shook his head. “Bobby kept going on that I should tell you, but… I didn’t want you to find out. Not at all, and certainly not _this_ way. I… Sam, it’s… Hell, look, I’ll be back in a minute. Just… wait there, Sam. _Please_.”

And he was opening the door and exiting the room, intentionally pulling it firmly closed behind him.

Despite the order Sam was immediately following, flinging the door open and marching out behind Dean. Only to come to a complete halt in shock.

Because _there_ was the man that he had _never_ wanted to see again.

And definitely nowhere _near_ his brother.

“Sam? What is it…?” Cas was also stepping through the door and staring at Dean in confusion….

Because he had physically been pushed back against the wall of the motel room by a smaller man: perhaps a bit younger than him; petite in features but still very masculine; dark complexion; eyes that were so deep brown as to be almost black; black hair including goatee and moustache; immaculate suit; expensive hand-made Italian shoes; perfectly manicured hands; the middle finger proudly encircled by a large solid gold signet ring with the monogram AE embossed on it.

And the hands were holding Dean’s face firmly as his tongue plundered his mouth, forcing him to unwillingly return the passionate kiss.  And the smaller man was on his toes and leaning in, pushing his body right into Dean’s, ensuring that every inch of them was touching. _Every_ inch.

“Sam?” The angel was trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Why was Dean kissing a man? He didn’t kiss _men!_ Besides… he really didn’t seem to be enjoying it at all, Castiel could see him glancing over at his brother uncomfortably…and were those tears of shame glistening in his eyes? And… why was the angel _himself_ feeling an emotion that he couldn’t place surging through him at the sight …

And why was Sam standing staring at the two men as if frozen in shock?

But then the younger man was coming out of his daze, and anger was sparking through him instead. “Get your hands off him.” The words were growled: the menacing threat in them obvious and genuine.

The smaller man pulled back momentarily and sighed at him wearily: “Are we _really_ going to go this every time, Sam? It was you who signed it without reading it: why do we keep having to go through this _performance?_

Now, my beautiful man: we’re due at a party in LA this evening and it’s a five hour flight. I’ve brought everything you’ll need with me. So go and get in the car.” And he was kissing Dean again. “Go on.”

“I…what?” And Sam was staring at the prince, not daring to think about what he had just said…what had he meant…?

“Oh, of course, you want the payment. Strange how _that_ was fine.” And the prince was gesturing at someone in a large black SUV behind him, and one of his men was getting a small box from the rear seat and bringing it across, holding it up for the petite man to open and display with pride. “There, as per the agreement that _you_ wanted! It’s a Samadhi quartz, said to have been touched by Vishnu himself. Supposed to give whoever’s holding it mystical protection.

Now, hurry up, Dean. My jet’s waiting for us at Newark…”

But Dean, who now had wet tracks of tears trickling down his cheeks, was looking miserably across at a stunned and silent Sam. “Highness? I… er… I would appreciate being allowed to use the bathroom before we go…”

The prince frowned, the agreeable charm having momentarily completely disappeared. “If you must… Oh. _Oh!_ ” And his expression was clearing. “You’re right: Sam will be wanting to mark his property, just like your father used to!

Are you in a demonstrative mood, Sam? Am I to call my men in to watch again? And I must admit… the two of you together are quite... spectacular.” His educated tones caught breathlessly for a moment, but Dean was already hastening to negate his supposition.

“No, highness. I just… er… I’ll be quick, highness. _Sam?_ ” And he was trying to push his younger brother back into the motel room.

Sam felt that he was in a bad dream. God, he _hoped_ he was in a bad dream! He rounded on Dean as soon as the other had shut the door behind them. “How did he _find_ you? I _swore_ to you that he’d _never_ find you: we covered your tracks so well. Despite… _everything_ … we had you _hidden!_ ”

But he quietened as soon as he saw the pain in his brother’s eyes. “Oh god, Dean… no. _No!_ Please tell me I didn’t. _Please_ tell me it wasn’t me.”

He couldn’t _really_ have treated his brother like this…could he? How could Dean bear to be around him if he had?  How could he even bear to _look_ at him? There must surely be some other explanation…

 _Please_ let there be some other explanation.

But Sam already knew that there wasn’t.

And Castiel, who had been staring at them both in consternation, turned to look at the younger man instead with a puzzled frown. “Sam? What is this? Why was that man…kissing Dean? And what was he talking about… deals? And…” He twisted to study his friend once more: he had never seen Dean with a man.

And… he had never seen him like this before.

The angel had watched Dean struggle with… _everything_ since that day he had raised him from hell. Seen him defiantly stare down angels, and demons. And win. Watched him strive day after day to get through nightmares and guilt. And felt his grief, and sorrow, and despair, always hidden from just about everyone else in the whole world aside from Castiel, from whom he could hide nothing, at the disdainful treatment and eventual betrayal from his beloved younger brother. And the resulting loss of just about everybody else he cared about.

But he had never seen Dean like _this_. He was unrecognisable at the moment. Gone was the defiance. Gone was the ever present, if not always genuine, cocky swagger. Always before, the fear and weight of circumstances was kept well out of sight, no matter what… from everyone else except the angel, who could and would always see it.

But Dean now had his head down. And he was _crying_.

This was like a different man standing in front of him. And Castiel didn’t understand why.

“Not now, Cas.” And Sam was crossing the room to his brother, reaching to hold his face in an unintentional mirrored movement of the prince’s just a few minutes before.

But Dean was already pulling away: “I gotta go, Sam. He’ll be getting impatient.” He started to try and move past him. The younger man simply took a single step to the side and it was as if Dean had walked into a solid brick wall. One that had long strong arms that promptly wrapped around him, caging him securely against an immovable chest.

“To hell with him. Just _tell_ me.”

“I don’t understand, Dean.” Castiel now spoke up as well. “Who is that man outside? Why do you have to go with him?”

Sam thought his heart had already broken a few moments before, but he knew that it hadn’t when he saw the anguished plea in the glance that Dean gave him. For it broke right _then_. His arms tightened instinctively, pulling his big brother in fully to his embrace, one large hand catching around the back of Dean’s head and drawing it down to tuck in and rest against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into the short, soft hair.

“It’s done, Sam.” He barely caught the response, then Dean was once more pulling away from him and straightening up, determined to face head on what he knew he had to. “I haven’t really got time right now to explain… but I’m not Sam’s natural brother, Cas.”

The angel stared at him, his eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“I’m his slave.”

Castiel blinked. He didn’t say a word: he didn’t know _what_ to say. He just looked at the two broth…, he just stared at the two humans incredulously. What was his friend saying? He was a slave? But, even so, what would that man outside want with him? And why were both the broth…: why were they both so upset? “I don’t understand.”

“I’m a slave, Cas. I was dad…John Winchester’s slave, and when he died I was passed on to Sam. And, although Sam promised me that he would never use me in deals like dad did, well… the soulless version of him didn’t have any such compunction.”

“Deals?”

“Rare weaponry; holy relics. Anything in between.”

“But…. How would _you_ be used in deals, Dean? A deal,” the angel was trying to think through his knowledge of human customs and transactions, “a deal is an arranged exchange of items, or some other defined commodity, as agreed by the participants in the transaction. I don’t… _You_ aren’t a commodity, Dean. I don’t understand.” He stared from one of them to the other.

But Sam wasn’t interested in him at the moment. _All_ his attention was on his brother. “When?” His voice was hoarse.

Dean sighed: “I haven’t got _time_ , Sam. Bobby kept on and I wish now I’d listened… but… I gotta go. He’ll be getting angry.”

“I need to _know!_ ” And Sam was shouting at him suddenly. “ _Tell_ me, Dean!”

Then he felt terrible as his brother stared down at his boots, not wanting to look the younger man in the eye. Carefully Sam sat on the bed nearest to him, spreading his long legs in front of him as he stared up at Dean. His brother wasn’t walking out of that door until he had told him the whole truth, _however_ much Sam didn’t want to hear it.

“That’s why you found me, Sam. Not to save me from the djinn, although you…he…must have thought all your Christmases had come at once with _that_ suddenly happening. But… as soon as we were alone…”

Dean sighed. “You told me how you and Samuel were working on ridding the world of the Alphas, And for the Siren Alpha, you researched and realised that you’d need an ancient amulet that you’d come across in the lore books: no idea how you could get it or where to start…until you suddenly realised that you _had_ a way. Exact same way dad did. But you didn’t _want_ to do it…

Not without asking me, and stressing how _important_ it was…

And.” Dean stopped speaking momentarily as the tears welled again. “I didn’t want to, Sam: you _know_ I didn’t. But… _you_ asked. And… you _wouldn’t_ have asked if…

So I said yes. For you. And you said you’d make enquiries…

Then It was only a week or so and you were back. Said you’d made it clear that it would be a one-off. And I believed you, despite how quick it was…

Until later when we were on that hunt, and you weren’t… _you_. And then, when I… paid… for the amulet, and they were joking about me saving my strength for all the other deals that you’d arranged… I realised that you’d had it all planned for a _long_ time.”

Dean finally got himself under enough control up to face Sam, steeling himself to keep talking despite the distraught expression in the younger man’s eyes. “God, Sammy: Bobby was so angry when he realised, he’ll take a _long_ time to forgive you, if _ever_. But… we hadn’t declared _you_ dead, because… well, how could we say that you fell physically into hell? So… nothing he could do to stop it. You were still my master and what you said, goes.

But _I_ knew it wasn’t you. _You’d_ never… Not even at your worst with that _Bitch_ …

I knew that _thing_ wasn’t you.”

His eyes were beginning to fill with moisture once again, the strain and pressure of the last few months finally breaking through. Sam felt his own tears also begin to fall and reached his arms out once more to him, desperate to find a way, _any_ way to apologise, and to put this right. Somehow.

But Dean was already pulling away from him, avoiding his touch, and wiping his face on his sleeve. “I gotta go. Here.” And he was delving in his jacket pocket and handing Sam the keys to the Impala. “You’re on your own for this case: I think he’s so mad now, I’m gonna be a while.”

Even as he started to cross to the motel room door, Sam hoarsely spoke, his voice all but gone with emotion: “How many? How many deals have _I_ made that _you_ still have to pay?”

His brother didn’t even turn his head. Instead he just sighed: “It was only deals at _first_ , Sam. And only _you_ know if there are any outstanding.” He reached for the door handle and started to turn it. “But… it’s gone _way_ beyond that now.”

“What?”

Dean paused momentarily in the now open doorway. Beyond it, he could see the prince impatiently waiting with an angry frown on his face, and he sighed as he knew he would be paying _dearly_ for every single second’s further delay. But still he paused.

And steeled himself to finally tell Sam what he had _never_ wanted to tell him.

“You signed my lien back to the AE, Sam. With the proviso that you have possession of me until the event of your demise. _Or_ until you sell me to someone who can afford to pay it off. _All_ of it.

In other words,” Dean drew himself up as straight as he could and turned to stare across without flinching at the absolutely horrified young man. “Technically… _you_ don’t _own_ me anymore, Sam.

 _They_ do.”

 


	8. Truths Come Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this all makes sense: please let me know if it doesn’t.

Dean got out of the SUV with a muffled groan. He was relieved to see the Impala still parked outside the motel, and even more relieved to see the other vehicle, with its jeering and laughing occupants, drive away and leave him standing alone in the car park in the small hours of the morning. With a deep sigh he headed for the room that he and Sam had been sharing before the unwanted arrival of the prince.

It only took him a minute to pick the lock as he didn’t want to disturb his brother. But to his surprise, as the door opened with a slight creak, Dean saw that the bedside light of the nearest bed to the door was on. Although there was no occupant in the bed. And the bed itself wasn’t neatly made to his exacting standards, (courtesy from years of living with John Winchester), but the covers were rumpled and crumpled as if laid _on_ , rather than under.

And there was an empty bottle of whisky overturned beside the lamp. And the remains of another smashed against the wall below the window that must have only just missed going straight through it as it was thrown. The whole room _reeked_ of the strong aroma of it: it almost made Dean’s head swim as he entered through the doorway.

And there were belongings, most of which he recognised as his brother’s, scattered throughout the… frankly, _pig-sty_ of a room. There were clothes everywhere, some ripped apart and shredded into small pieces as if somebody had been taking out their frustration on them. And one pile of remnants had the glint of at least one sharp blade sticking from them.

Dean stood by the door and followed the shadows of the destruction around the room with his eyes. There were discarded take-out wrappers, abandoned where they had been thrown down, and a couple more empty bottles. Sam’s laptop was down in the corner beside the table as if hurled from the surface with an angry swipe of someone’s arm, as were the keys to the Impala, on the floor and glinting in the light, and the sharp-edged pieces of yet _another_ smashed bottle.

And also on the floor, slumped against the wall beside the small bathroom, with long lanky legs stretched-out and spread wide in front of him; long hair a wild mess as if large hands and fingers had been continually run through it; jaw and chin unshaven with definitely a few days’ worth of beard growth; clinging to a half empty bottle of whisky in his hand, and wearing clothes that looked suspiciously like the ones that Dean had last seen him in… was _Sam_.

Dean stared across and down at him: “Phew,” he commented eventually. “You’ve certainly packed away the drink. You trying to pretend you’re _me?_ ”

There was no response other than a slight tilting of his brother’s head as if he wasn’t really convinced that Dean was there, and as he tipped his face up, the older man could clearly see in the light that the hazel eyes were shining with moisture, the dried tracks of numerous previous tears still obvious down his cheeks. “Dee….? Datchou?”

His brother snorted: “Yeah, Sammy. It’s me. I think we’d better get you to bed…” And he started forward, grateful that there appeared to be no smashed glass in between them.

But the younger man had different ideas: “No… _No!_ _We_ talk’n! _You_ talk’n t’ me.” His arms waved wildly and the strong drink sloshed out of the open bottle, splashing on his head and soaking the area around where he was. “No more… _not_ talk’n!”

“O- _kay_.” And Dean carefully began to settle himself on the floor where he had been standing: he didn’t want to copy his brother and lean against the wall, his back was too painful for that. And he certainly didn’t want to put any weight on his ass… because _that_ part of his body was _far_ too painful for… well, _anything!_ So instead he returned to his life-long habit of kneeling, finding comfort in the deeply ingrained position.

And he waited.

Sam stared at him for what seemed like a long time, as if he was mentally trying to will himself to sober up. And Dean patiently watched him in return. Then suddenly:

“You hu-rrt?” A loud belch from his lips emerged at the same time, but Dean refrained from commenting on it.

“Sore.”

“You’sh… gone… five days! Five _days,_ Dee!” The bottle was waved around again, with the result that Sam was now drenched enough that he would probably have been able to wash his hair in pure whisky shampoo.

“I know I have.”

“I’s worried. S’ worried.” Even the puppy-dog face looked drunk.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why’sh _you…_?” And the younger man’s tears were suddenly overflowing. “You don’t have … _be_ sh’rry! It’s _me_ dat…! G’d, Dee: how’sh you bear even _look_ me…? I…!” And Sam was shoving the bottle aside, regardless of the dregs now emptying themselves over the musty old carpet, and physically crawling somewhat haphazardly across the floor towards his brother until he had gotten close enough to throw his arms tightly around him, almost knocking the older man over with the flumping force of his body weight.

But he wasn’t _too_ drunk that he missed the immediate wince of pain that Dean gave at the contact. Or the slight hiss that escaped the slave’s lips. “You _arr_ hurt. Lem’me see.” And he was pulling at Dean’s shirts, fumbling for his buttons with surprisingly adept fingers despite his extremely intoxicated state.

His older brother stopped him gently, catching the larger hands with his own. “Like I said: I’m sore. Everything hurts, and I mean _everything!_ I really just want some sleep, Sammy. And I think that’s what _you_ need, as well…”

He met Sam’s eyes without hesitation as the other looked up from where he had been concentrating on removing Dean’s clothes: their faces now only inches apart. The younger man leaned in momentarily as if he would kiss him… and Dean wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, especially with the blast of stagnant whisky emanating from the other’s breath… but then, instead, Sam was nodding and trying to get up, as unsteady on his long limbs as a new-born giraffe, still holding tight to the other’s soft sleeves as he did.

Dean helped him to his feet, before not very easily finding his own: he was just _so_ tired. Even _with_ having been rendered unconscious for most of the return flight. But the events of the last few days, and the residue of the enforced drugs that he had been injected with, and the ‘special treatment’ that the prince had ordered his men to give Dean before allowing him to return to the motel, were taking their toll. He led Sam to the made-up, clear bed across the room, keeping an eye out for any stray pieces of glass on route, and helped him to settle beneath the covers.

“N’ you.” But even as the younger man reached to pull one of the two Deans that he could see into the bed, his brother was undoing his own boots and sliding in next to him.

“Just sleep, Sammy. We’ll talk tomorrow. The trash can is just there if you need it… _when_ you need it.”

“Need _you_ , Dee. _Alwaysh_ need’d you.” And he was wrapping himself physically around the older man while the other tried to control himself from wincing with every tiny bit of pressure against his tender body. “Never goin’ let themsh take y’ again. Nev’r going,” he belched again loudly, forcing Dean to have to blink away the sting in his eyes from the fumes, “t’ f’give mysef…”

“Nothing to forgive yourself for, Sam. It’s done. Now go to sleep.”

“Kay. Kay, Dean. You’sh be here when I wake up…. You _prom’sh_ …?”

“I promise…” But Sam was already sound asleep, and drooling sloppily down his brother’s neck between his snores. Dean sighed and tried without success to get comfortable, given that Sam was holding him so tightly to his own chest that he could hardly breathe, but then exhaustion won out.

Although his last conscious thought was that he _really_ wasn’t looking forward to the conversation when they woke up…

It was Sam who stirred first. Or rather… his stomach that stirred him. He all but scrambled from the bed and made a dash for the bathroom, staggering a little and just barely making it in time. And his head was pounding fit to fall completely off his neck. And… it hurt _so_ much that momentarily Sam wished that it _would_. Either that, or he just desperately needed another drink…

But that thought immediately dissipated from his mind as he stumbled, somewhat blearily, back to the main room and realised that his dream about holding Dean in his arms… actually had been _real_. Quickly he returned to the bathroom to try to wash his face clean and brush his teeth and tongue… three times each…, before hurrying to get back in the bed, his arms going back around his brother automatically to pull the other tight against him.

But then Dean was wincing in his sleep, and flinching away from Sam’s hands. The younger man leant up on his elbow and watched as his brother tried to roll away from him on the small bed… and ended up groaning slightly as he turned onto his front.

Sam was back out of his side of the bed, and around to kneel on the floor where he could study Dean’s face as he slept, before he had even realised. His brother was in pain: the ever increasing lines around his eyes and lips were creased even deeper than before, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

Carefully Sam pulled the covers back, rolled the older man back onto his side, and started to gently undress him, holding his breath as he tenderly eased Dean out of his shirts, trying to be gentle so he wouldn’t disturb him from his obviously much needed sleep.  

The top layers came off fairly easily, but the tight black t-shirt proved much more difficult. And by this time, even with the drapes still closed, Sam could clearly see the bruises that were all up his brother’s muscled arms. And the distinct discoloured impressions of the tight locking manacles that Dean would have been forced to wear around his wrists.

Gingerly, the younger man examined the other’s neck as well… there was the mark of the collar: the slave collar that Sam had hoped and prayed that his brother would never have to wear again. The only thing that he _could_ be grateful for was that the prince had had a special, and extremely _expensive_ , perfectly fitted and padded, set of collar and wristbands commissioned especially for Dean to wear… and then he felt unbelievably ashamed for actually being thankful for something that should be so abhorrent in _any_ circumstance.

But he still had to get Dean’s t-shirt off without disturbing him. And it seemed to be stuck to his brother’s skin in places. Carefully, inch by inch, Sam slid the material up and away from the ripped abdomen and chest… and tried not to exclaim aloud with concern and rage as he did.

For Dean was _covered_ in bruises and welts, from both fist-sized blows and from what had possibly been straps or belts being used on him. And, to Sam’s _horror_ , the pale of the slave’s skin was all but obliterated from view beneath bite marks, _human_ -shaped ones: most already blossoming into deep-coloured dark and painful looking sores, with more than a few deep enough to break right through the skin and leave imprinted and still glistening semi-circles of blood.

Yet all that paled into insignificance besides the mark that Sam found on Dean’s back. He had _hated_ knowing that Castiel’s handprint had been burned into his brother’s arm during his rescue from Hell: it had always felt to him, however unfair the thought, that the angel had done it deliberately to try and stake a claim on the human…

But this?

The young man felt physically sick as he saw _this_.

Carefully he eased the buttons on his brother’s denims loose a little, enough to pull the tough fabric down just enough to reveal…

Right at the base of Dean’s spine. Just as the curve of his ass began.

The mark of the AE.

The monogrammed letters, curving elegantly together as one emblem, proclaiming to _all_ who saw it and knew what it was, that anything bearing it was considered _their_ property..

Branded viciously into his brother’s skin to cause a raised, permanent scar of possession.

Sam ran his fingers over it despite himself, feeling the ridged, forced mutilation put there deliberately to negate _any_ doubt about ownership.

And he didn’t have to be told that it must have been so painful: that it must have hurt so _much_ when it was done and for long after. Dean must have been in _agony_.

And he knew that… however much he could claim that he wasn’t able to remember, and hadn’t been in his own mind at _all_ when  this had happened… it all came back to the fact that he, Sam, could have prevented this from happening. _Any_ of it.

By just keeping that one promise to his brother…

Sam sat on the bed beside Dean and felt warm tears trickle down his cheeks again. Then as his vision cleared again a little, he gradually became aware that his brother’s body _was_ sticky in the places where the t-shirt had stuck to him. But not from what the younger man had first thought. The wounds inflicted on him had left bruises and weals upon yet more bruises and welts… but actually, there was very little blood. But his whole torso seemed to be coated in something that was still tacky in places, and flaking a little from his skin where it had dried in others: something whitish…

And then Sam was running to the bathroom again as he registered exactly _what_ Dean was covered in. And the _rage_ that grew inside him as he brushed his teeth twice more to try yet again to get rid of the taste of stale whisky-flavoured vomit… He was going to find that royal bastard and _kill_ him.

But first he had to look after Dean.

There was a flannel by the basin: that would do. Now all he needed was a container of some sort… Sam looked in the bathroom cupboard and found a bowl along with a few other items that the motel cleaners would use. He ignored them, but grabbed out the vessel to fill with warm, clear water that he could use to gently try and wipe his brother clean with.

But even as he moved to return to the main room, Sam heard a noise from inside it.

A sound of flapping wings.

He hurried back to the doorway just in time to see Castiel looking around the all but destroyed room: a look of bewilderment on his face. Then his eyes were alighting on Dean where he still slept uncovered in the bed, huddled into himself foetal-like now… and the angel’s expression, as Sam watched, turned to one of genuine concern… then horror as he got close enough to see the bruises and bitemarks… then one of contained but _definite_ fury.

Then the ends of the fingers on his right hand were glowing with a light, bright aura that seemed to spread through Dean’s skin as the angel pressed his digits gently against the human’s chest. But, instead of just holding his hand steady and in one position as he had always previously done when healing either of them to Sam’s knowledge… this time Castiel was allowing his fingers to wander down Dean’s torso even as the man shivered slightly even in his sleep with response, watching intently as the light filtered throughout the prone body and all the sores on it eased and cleared… and then he was moving to lean slightly over the bed, leaning slightly over _Dean_ , to repeat the performance along the human’s spine, (the angel also having to stifle a horrified exclamation upon his first sight of what would be an ever permanent mark of possession on his friend’s back), before contimuing to glide his glowing hand tenderly down towards the natural curve that disappeared into the loosened denims…

Sam almost bit through his own lip in frustration: he wanted to leap forward and drag the angel forcibly away… _But_ … Even though he didn’t _like_ the way that Castiel was suddenly touching Dean… not at _all_ … at least he was _healing_ him. He closed his own eyes tightly momentarily against the sight, wishing that he still had his powers so that _he_ could be the one with his hands on his brother…

When he opened them again, Sam started with sudden fright. Because although he hadn’t heard the other move, Castiel was now standing right in front of him, the blue eyes blazing with anger: “You haven’t learned a _thing!_ ”

“What?”

But the bowl went crashing to the ground as the next instant, Sam found himself slammed back against the wall, his throat being crushed by Castiel’s left hand, and the angel had his blade out and glinting in his right… “All the pain you have caused! All the _destruction!_ And _still_ you desire it! _Still_ you think that you are meant to be more special than everyone else!”

“No, I…” And Sam was realising suddenly that he must have muttered that _aloud_ … “No… I… I _know_ how much I’ve screwed up. I _know!_ I just meant… I just wished… I would have been able to protect Dean! That’s all...!”

“ _Protect_ him?” And the blade was stowed away even though Castiel was still furious. He flung himself away, dragging Sam around with him and pushed him bodily towards the bed where Dean lay: “ _Look_ at him! When you _had_ your powers, did you protect him? _Did_ you? Or did you just _abandon_ him as being less than you could bear to tolerate…”

“No, I…” But Sam felt the shame begin again as he knew that the other was right… “I didn’t mean… I just wanted…”

“What’s he talking about, _powers?”_ The sudden sound of the deep gravelly voice took them both by surprise and Dean was sitting up in the bed, startled awake by the noise of the full bowl of water hitting the hard bathroom floor, obviously still tired but immediately alert even so. And the green eyes were already showing his anxiety: “Sam? You’re not…? Oh God, you’re _not_ drinking that fucking stuff again!? Surely you wouldn’t _do_ that again!?”

“No! _No_.” And the younger man was breaking free from the angel’s tight grip on his arm and hurrying towards the bed, almost falling on top of his brother as he reached to hold Dean’s face tightly with both his hands. “I’d _never!_ I fucked up so much: _I_ know I did! I’d _never_ do that again! I just wished… I just wanted to be able to _stop_ this!”

But he bit his lip as he could see that the flicker of doubt had already been ignited… Dean was staring at him with real worry in his eyes. Sam had to convince him: he knew he had long since lost his brother’s trust. _And_ respect. But… he knew that he still had his _love_ …

He was kissing Dean before he had realised, trying to forcibly invade his brother’s mouth with his tongue, trying to convey through the intimate touch how _sorry_ he was, and how much he needed him, and how he would never, never, _never_ going to let him down again, and how he was going to sort this all out… _somehow_ , and how much he loved him as _well_. Because Dean was all that he had ever really _wanted_.

There was a silence in the room when he eventually had to release his brother to allow them both to breathe. Sam stared into Dean’s eyes, hoping that he had managed to reassure him. But the green irises were still looking at him with anguished concern… and doubt. And Dean couldn’t hold his gaze: to the younger man’s chagrin, he had to look away and down at his own naked torso. “I haven’t, Dean. I _swear_ I haven’t. _Please_ believe me…”

In desperation, Sam glanced around at Castiel, hoping that he had at least convinced _him_ and would have his support. Only to find that the angel was watching both the brothers with a mixture of consternation and confusion in his face… but as he met the younger human’s glance, his expression changed into something much harder, that Sam couldn’t read… and wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

“Hey, you healed me, Cas? Thanks.” And Dean had noticed his own now unbruised, unbitten, and no longer painful, body, and was beaming gratefully at his friend: which, to Sam’s annoyance, was instantly returned with the angel’s quiet, contained smile.

“You are very welcome, Dean. I do not like to see you hurt. Is this something that has been occurring a lot since Sam gave you to them?” His opinion about _that_ was quite clear in his tone.

“No, Cas. That was done as a warning to Sam to back off. I should have listened to Bobby and warned him before it came to that.”

“What? Why? Why would he do that? And…” Sam didn’t really want to ask… “What _else_ did they do…?”

“Nothing like that, Sammy.” His brother knew what he was meaning. “They wouldn’t have dared: that’s probably the only advantage of being a high value sex slave. The prince told his men to… make sure you finally got the message, but if any of them had _dared_ to touch me in that way, then they _all_ would have been slaughtered. They just took the chance to have a little fun while I was chained down, that’s all.”

“ _Sex_ … slave?” Cas breathed the words so softly that Sam wasn’t fully sure he had heard them. But a glance round at the angel once more told him that Castiel had _finally_ understood what his brother had meant by ‘deals’. And Sam did not like the look in the blue eyes. Especially when they suddenly focused on _him_. “I hope that Sam would agree that it would be better if you came with me: I could keep you much safer than he obviously can, Dean.”

The older man interrupted before Sam could yell his many objections to _that_ idea: “I appreciate your worry, Cas, but it’s too late... “

“If you are referring to this… chip that Bobby told me about, then I can remove it for you. I would have _before_ , if you had only said…”

“You don’t just go around advertising that you’re a _slave_ , Cas!” Sam couldn’t contain himself, but Dean was again interrupting him, intentionally stroking the younger man’s arms where they were now resting either side of his naked waist, to try and get him to calm down.

“I could have done, yes. I wish I’d _thought_ of it… it was just such a … I _wish_ I’d asked you, Cas. But it’s too _late_.

From what they’ve been saying since… Sam… got back in touch with them… we’re not the only ones who’ve had dealing with the supernatural: they know a hell of a lot more about me and what I’ve been doing than I ever realised. I mean, they _know_ things.” His voice faded momentarily and Sam could feel Dean shudder a little against him, in response he instinctively tightened his arms and pulled his brother closer protectively. “I think they’ve _always_ known.

And they’ve always found me. _Always._

It’s going to take _something_ …to get them off my back now: something so _conclusive_ that they don’t even bother to keep looking for me…”

“Like what, Dean?” Castiel tilted his head to one side as he listened.

But Dean shook his head sadly. “Short of me dying…again… I have no idea! And… with some of their connections who I’ve been… erm… servicing… these last few months… even _death_ wouldn’t necessarily be conclusive enough.”

He sighed ruefully and looked around the room, avoiding the eyes of both the others. “Where’s my bag, Sam? I really need a shower. And… thanks again for healing me, Cas, but I really need to talk to Sammy now. I should have just told him what he’s done right from the off…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.” Both brothers stared at the angel in surprise. And in return, he stared back at his friend without the blue eyes even blinking once. “I didn’t fight my way through Hell to bring you back for this. My mission has _always_ been to protect you.”

There was another silence. Then Dean was nodding at him with a genuine smile: “Okay, Cas. Could you do me a favour, though? Would you mind getting us both coffees? From the looks of Sam, the stronger the better?” And he was sliding himself out of the bed, after having subtly made sure that his denims were done up once more, and headed towards the bathroom.

Sam sighed and looked around the room for his own stuff, for the first time taking in the _state_ of it all. And the remains of most of his clothing. Then… an ominous unease settled over him and he looked round to see… Castiel. Who was staring at him with as much contempt in his expression as he had done towards Sam when they had first met. And this time, the human knew that he deserved it.

He blinked as the angel suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but the breeze caused by his wings behind him.

“Don’t let him get to you, Sammy.” The younger man started and looked around at Dean, whom he hadn’t realised had paused in the bathroom doorway, and was watching him.

“I… what?”

“He’s just pissed, that’s all. As he said, he fought to get me from Hell: he lost friends saving me… _if_ angels count each other as friends. It must be really getting him that he did all that for someone who’s turned to be nothing more than a piece of trash slave.”

“He’s angry because he really _cares_ for you.” Sam had told him before he had thought whether he had really wanted to point it out or not.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Dean. He _loves_ you. Don’t you get that?” Sam was incredulous: seriously, how could his brother be so _dense_ sometimes?

But Dean just snorted: “He’s an _angel_. He could never love something like m… he would _never_ love a human: the _most_ we would ever mean to him is as pets!” And this time the bathroom door was being firmly closed behind him.

The young man stared at it for a long moment, debating with himself as to whether to follow and continue the argument… then simply began to sort through what was left of his clothing, trying to find things that were intact _and_ clean. By the time he had managed to find enough to change into, Castiel had returned with two steaming hot coffees as well as bagels for Dean, and bottles of water and fresh fruit for Sam.

“Thank you.” And Sam was gratefully sipping at the dark, strong, sobering liquid even as Dean emerged from the bathroom amid a cloud of condensation to get his drink: “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re very welcome, Dean.”

“You having a shower, Sam? Your clothes smell like they could walk in there on their own!”

His brother flushed with embarrassment but obeyed, hurrying to wash five days’ worth of grime off as quickly as he could. He was surprised on exiting the bathroom to see the room as immaculate as it had been when they had arrived, although his clothing was still in a ruined pile on the nearest bed. Dean paused from trying to pack the few useful bits back in Sam’s bag as he caught the expression of his wide eyes and raised eyebrows: ”Yeah. Thank Cas. Just one snap of his fingers!”

The younger man nodded and moved to sit beside his brother, rubbing at his long wet hair with a towel. The angel cleared his throat somewhat obviously: “Sam? Are you going to finish getting dressed?”

Sam glanced down at the (deliberately) undone buttons of his plaid shirt that left not very much of his immaculate chest and abdomen to the imagination. “I couldn’t find a wearable t-shirt,” he lied as Dean raised his eyebrows at the one he was just putting in the younger man’s holdall for him, but remained silent. 

Then Dean was going across the room to fetch one of the hard chairs from beside the table and bringing it back to where the two other men were sitting, one now on each bed. “Cas said he talked to Bobby: I’m taking it you did as well, Sam?”

Yes, the young man had. He had _more_ than talked to Bobby: the old man had had some _very_ choice words about what he thought of Sam, although he hadn’t really told him too much more: he had said that that was up to Dean…

And then Bobby had burst into tears down the phone. “I’m not really angry at you, Sam. I know you weren’t in your right mind… well… you weren’t in there at _all!_ I’m angry at _me!_

I thought I was doing the right thing: not telling Dean you were back. I thought he’d managed to escape this life… God, I _hoped_ he had, Sam. He deserves to be happy, to have a normal life…

But, when he was so angry and hurt that we hadn’t told him… And that night, that first night when he said that he was going to stay with Lisa anyway and you’d left him… he called, Sam. He _called_ me. Asked if I thought there was something ‘off’ about you.

He’d noticed _already,_ Sam! In just a couple of days, he’d _known_ there was something wrong! _Really_ wrong! With you!

And like an _idgit_ , I told him that you must have really been through sommat in Hell, just like he had, and you hadn’t wanted him to know you were back because you loved him and you wanted to see him happy… But he’d _known_ …

If I’d just _told_ him. _Told_ him you were back. I let you get a full year head start to make your plans. To… do what you did…

If I’d only _told_ Dean that you were _back_ …”

Now Sam looked across to where his brother was sitting astride the turned round chair, leaning his arms on the back, waiting for him to start asking questions, his mouth unhelpfully full of bagel. “Tell me.” His voice sounded hoarse even to himself. “Tell me what I’ve done, Dean. _Please_.”

The older man looked down at his bare feet, wriggling his toes a little as he tried to compose himself for finally admitting what he wished with all his heart he could have able to spare his little brother from. But…

He sighed: “Okay, Sam. Just… let me talk, though… I’m not good at… not like you… okay…” He took a deep breath:

“Like I said: you didn’t exactly come to save me from the djinn. You’d actually been setting up deals with the AE. Well, to be more exact, the _prince_ , as he’s been running it since I killed Drayton.

Apparently just the whisper of me being still alive had brought him personally to your door. And he was _very_ happy to deal.” Dean snorted a little: “That first one… the way he presented me back to the group, you’d think he’d brought me back from the dead _himself…_

Oh, I forgot.” Dean broke his words off abruptly and looked straight at Sam. “I don’t know if or how many other definite deals that you made, but one big one… that was actually done for just about the entire store of weaponry that Samuel _has_ in that compound… has to be paid for in a few weeks at the annual… erm… meeting-thing that they do… I hate to call it a Conference, but it’s _really_ a big deal, and _I’ll_ be there for the first time in a few years…”

His face reddened suddenly and momentarily he couldn’t look either of the other two in the eye. Sam fought down fury because if _Dean_ didn’t want to say it out loud… and the younger man had realised extremely quickly after finding out about his brother and these ‘deals’, that the slave was incredibly open about and accustomed to having a lot of… _questionable_ sexual practices done to him that had made Sam want to vomit at the thought of most of them… that if _he_ was embarrassed, then… Sam just wanted to kill them all. The whole AE.

Despite himself he glanced over at Castiel and saw the same reaction there in the menacing blue eyes, as they angrily met his own hazel ones. There was no need for words between them: they were suddenly reunited again in the one cause. _Both_ were determined to get Dean the hell away from those people. No matter _what_ it took.

But his brother had recovered himself enough to ask of no one in particular: “I wonder how Samuel would feel about the sacredness of ‘family’ if he knew what I’m gonna have to do to _pay_ for all that stuff… Although…” he shrugged wryly. “I guess I ain’t family. Not to him.

Anyway, turned out you had arranged a lot of deals, Sam. Just like dad, you wanted as much as possible for use in Hunting: religious artefacts; specialised weaponry; access to areas that otherwise would be impossible… No recourse for… let’s say… certain actions…”

Again he paused. Sam stared at him aghast. “Did you _know_ what I’d done at Bristol?”

The other shook his head. “I don’t know _what_ you did for that year, Sam. But… I _do_ know some of what you did _after_ you came and found me. Because… I had to pay for it all to make sure it…  got ‘erased’ from official records.

Probably there _are_ still a few to be paid even now: they’ll come crawling out of the woodwork at some point…”

“But I can _stop_ doing that, Dean! At least now I _know_ , there’ll be no more…!”

But the younger man’s sudden eagerness faded and he fell silent again as his brother shook his head emphatically: “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Sammy. It’s too _late_.

It’s _past_ that stage now.”

Dean sighed. “The prince. He started to dig at you… began to taunt you about being stupid enough to sign the lien. I tried to tell you that’s how he _works_ … I’ve seen him do it before… I tried to _warn_ you not to let him get under your skin…  _But_.” Dean sighed. “Since when did you _ever_ listen to me, Sam: soulless or not?

You _hate_ being told how stupid you are: you always have done. You became _determined_ to get rid of that lien, started looking up how to go about it. And there are only two ways: pay the debt off, or… give it back.”

“I don’t understand.” Castiel spoke up suddenly. “What is this ‘lien’? Bobby kept alluding to it, then he would start throwing items around his yard…”

“It’s a… security against something owed, Cas. In this case, when Sam got his College scholarship. He didn’t realise that it was actually from the AE, with me on the paperwork as collateral. Of course, even if he’d _read_ it, he wouldn’t have realised who the number referred to, cos dad never _told_ him…”

“Number?”

“My slave number. Four-five-one-one-four-oh: that’s who I am, Cas. Dean Winchester doesn’t really exist. He never _has_.”

The angel frowned but remained silent. Dean continued.

“And it wasn’t just for the scholarship: their lawyers had written it to be ongoing ‘as necessary’.  _And_ accrue interest. Plus a lot of things since. Basically, if Sam wanted to get rid of the lien, he’d have to pay them a lot of money, a _hell_ of a lot of money, that he’d been tricked into owing them, and he _hated_ that.

And the prince _knew_ it.

So.” Dean’s face became _too_ carefully controlled, too expressionless. Both the other men knew him well enough to be aware of how really angry and emotional he really was, just below the surface of his seeming calm…

Again there was a mutual glance between them as the story was _finally_ told. Again an unspoken understanding that Dean would always be the common denominator that would unite them against the rest of the world.

“He let you think it was _your_ idea, Sam. Four months or so ago. You wanted rid of that lien, and the members of the AE that you _thought_ you were having dealings with were… coming up with lots of hints that they ‘might be able to find…’ or ‘knew someone who might have… for a price’, but it would require just a ‘little more commitment from you’ to ensure that it would be worth their time and expense…” The heavy sarcasm in Dean’s voice gave away his obvious disgust at what had happened. “… that they could be sure that you were fully on board with their organisation…

And not just trapped by your own _stupidity_ at not reading a contract properly…”

Dean sighed heavily and scrubbed at his face with his hand: “God, you fell right _into_ it, Sam.”

He paused and took a few moments to compose himself: blinking tears away as they now threatened to fill the green eyes. Neither of the other men dared to speak: neither wanted to do or say anything that would cause Dean to stop talking...

“They… _he_ … put the idea in your head. _I_ know he did, Sam. You wanted their continued assistance and prowess, and you thought you could _have_ that because they wanted _me_. _And_ you wanted rid of that fucking lien! So, you suggested that you _might_ consider letting them have far more access to me, with provisos, as _long_ as the lien was released and all obligations on it, monetary and otherwise, permanently waived.”

“Provisos?” Sam couldn’t help from asking, although he silently cursed himself for interrupting. But Castiel sat forward just as intently. Dean didn’t bother to look at either of them.

“That you have possession of me until the event of your demise, but if any member of the AE be found to have _any_ involvement in said demise, then the terms of the new contract would be immediately voided and the previous Will that left me to Bobby in the event of your death would be applied instead.” Dean abruptly laughed without any mirth in it. “When I asked you what would happen to me if you got killed Hunting, you just smirked and said that, for my own good, I’d better make fucking sure that you _didn’t!”_

 _“_ So…” Sam didn’t want to ask. He _really_ didn’t want to ask. “So… if I die… who… gets _you?_ ”

The momentary coldness in the greens as they focused on him shook the young man more than he could remember anything else ever doing: “ _They_ do. As per _your_ contract. I _am_ the collateral of the lien, after all.”

“Dean…I…” But his brother ignored the puppy-eyes as he tried to plead for forgiveness.

“The prince… naturally… wanted clarification of ‘far more access’. _He_ suggested… how did he put it again?… that, in return for waiving the lien, the AE as a society in general, and as individual members, be able to have _limitless_ availability to the property… me… on the condition that ‘suitable and appropriate renumeration, such as physical or monetary properties or certain influences, political or otherwise’ be offered.” He winked at Sam suddenly: “Proud of me, baby brother? Have I got all your legal shite off pat?”

“ _Dean!_ ”

“The original paperwork’s in your bag somewhere. If you didn’t rip it to bits when you realised…”

“Realised what?”

“What you’d _signed_.” Dean got off the hard chair abruptly and wandered across to the table to see if there were any bagels left in the box. He smiled when he saw there was a cinnamon and raisin one left, and was already munching at it even as he moved to sit up on the table itself, putting both his bare feet up on the chair still in situ by it. “You agreed to it, although I begged you not to. And you signed it, Sam.

You signed the lien, and me, _away_.

And then… it started.”

“What did, Dean?” Castiel’s voice seemed as calm and controlled as ever, but neither of the other men were fooled. Although to be honest… at that moment, neither cared. _This_ moment was for them alone.

Dean sighed: “Remember a couple of weeks ago, Sam? You bitched at me for abandoning you at that diner?”

The young man frowned at the sudden change of subject: “You mean, when we investigated Saskia Mitchell’s murder…?”

“And then you commented as we packed up, that you didn’t remember seeing that gourd of Holy Oil in the trunk before…?”

“Yes, but…” And Sam was sitting up straight and staring at Dean. “It _wasn’t_ there when we arrived, was it? Where did it come from?” And his mind was racing… and came to the only solution that it could… “That _text_ …! Oh my god: it was a _deal_ , wasn’t it?” He stared across in horror at his brother. “Why didn’t you say? I could have refused it…!”

His brother snorted sadly at the defiance in the wide, hazel eyes. “No. You _couldn’t_ , Sam. That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“On the condition that appropriate retribution… yar de yar de yar…” Dean waved his hand expressively, scattering crumbs of the half-eaten bagel around as he did… “be _offered!_ ”

Both the others stared blankly at him. Dean sighed and stuffed the rest of the dough in his mouth in one go. “It doesn’t _have_ to be _accepted_ , Sam...

Just as long as it’s been _offered!_

There’s been a couple of weeks when I’ve been… well… Every… Single… _Night_. And _you_ can’t do anything about it cos they’ve _offered_ …

And you _signed_ it!”

There was a silence in the room as the other two digested what he had just said…

Then Sam was abruptly on his feet and snatching at his holdall to search frantically through the pockets, scattering the contents once more as he did. “I saw some paperwork in here! I didn’t take much notice with everything that’s been going on! Where is it? I _saw_ it!”

And he was pulling out a couple of crumpled sheets of paper that were covered in print. “Yeah, that’s it.” Dean informed him. “You were so mad when you realised, I’d wondered if you’d destroyed it. But there are several copies… and their lawyers have _definitely_ got one!”

The younger man hardly heard him as he was busy scanning the papers: the ones that he had ignored… but which held his definite _signature_ : “waving the lien….limitless availability… be _offered!!_ No! No, no, _no!”_ He stared at Dean, his eyes wide with horror. “We can fight this! There must be _some_ way!” 

“There isn’t, Sam. You’ve _tried!_ I mean, the _other_ version of you tried! You went ballistic when you realised what you’ve done! Really, really _nuts!_ But…

You signed it.

And if you renege on the contract and refuse for them to be allowed access to me, then it will be declared null and void, as will the original terms and conditions of the lien and it will have to be repaid immediately. The full balance. Or you lose me: I become the legal property of the AE.

If you die, then, as I’ve already said… I become the legal property of the AE.

If _I_ die…” Dean paused: for the first time the full strain of what he must have living under the last few months showed in his face, as well as a weariness that became evident throughout his whole body.

“Don’t even suggest that, Dean.” Castiel spoke for them both: Sam wasn’t able to through the tears now streaming from his eyes.

The other sighed and moved to get down from his position on the table, standing straight in the centre of the motel room instead and facing down both the others defiantly. “I’ve thought about it too many times, Cas. But I’m just a useless coward.

Anyway… Now you know, Sam. And Cas. Now you both know what I am: what I’ll _always_ be…That’s it.  No more secrets.

So, Sam. What did you find out about Jayden Panietti? Is it our witch again?”

“What?” The younger man was staring up at his brother incredulously: was he _serious?_ He had just told them what he… Sam… had done, and he was asking about the _case?_ “Who the fuck _cares!?_ She doesn’t matter, not to me! _Nobody_ matters! Nobody ever has! Only _you!_ ”

And then he was even more disbelieving that Dean seemed to be genuinely surprised at his words. “Huh! Well, we better head down there and have a look.” And he was crossing back to the bed that Castiel was sitting on, and retrieving his bag. “Let’s get going.”

“ _What!?_ Dean, we have to _talk_ about this!” “Dean: you are clearly emotional about this and understandably so, but I would like to help…”

But both the younger human and the angel were ignored. They all but sighed in unison as they watched Dean mentally retreat back into the shell of seeming indifference that had become his only armour against such an unforgiving, painful world. “Let’s _go_ , Sammy.” The order was clear: the cool calmness in the voice terrifying.

Both of them, his brother and his friend, knew that they would get absolutely nowhere if they tried to continue the conversation now, for Dean, throughout his life, had mastered the art of burying all his far too deeply felt emotions inside what must be a rapidly running out of room, space in his soul.

One day it would all become too much for him to be able to contain. And both Sam and Castiel knew it, and were equally worried about what would happen when it did.

And to be honest… Sam himself knew he needed some time to think all this through. He had a blinding headache, and he felt a broken pain in his chest, just about where his heart was, that was worse than anything else he had ever known. But it hadn’t been caused by all the drink he had consumed…

He could only wish that it _had_ been.

So, with a sigh, he nodded and also began to finish packing his bag with the last few usable items he had, and stood looking around the room to collect anything left behind, even as Dean finished pulling his boots on and walked out to the Impala without turning his head back to look at either of them once.

But before Sam silently and obediently followed his brother, his eyes once more sought for and met Castiel’s: the angel having just been standing by the bed he had been sitting on, helplessly watching his friend leave.

And the look that they shared between them was of one opinion, and definite: _they_ were going to get Dean _out_ of this situation. That was irrefutable.

That was a _certainty_.

No matter _what_ either of them had to do to make it happen.

They were going to get Dean _away_ from these people.

For once and for all.


	9. The Second Victim

It had been a completely silent car journey just about the whole way to Chicago, the city where Jayden Panietti had lived and died.

Sam found himself half staring out of the window as they drove, and half watching his brother, who was staring rigidly straight ahead. Sam was ready to swear that Dean hadn’t even turned his head once to check that junctions were clear: he was driving on pure instinct and intuition, his thoughts buried as deep as his emotions.

But Sam didn’t interrupt them: he had too much thinking of his own to do.

And he was worried about upsetting his brother, by saying or doing the wrong thing, or by pushing too much with the questions that he still had… Above all, he was worried that Dean simply couldn’t _take_ too much more…

 _And_ he still had the remnants of a crippling self-caused headache, which eventually he decided to just try and snooze away, huddling himself in his seat to lean against the door in the passenger’s seat. He would have loved to have laid his head in his brother’s lap again, but didn’t dare to ask.

For when was said and done… Sam just couldn’t see how Dean could even bear to _look_ at him.

It was early evening by the time they arrived, and they still had hardly spoken more than a word to each other from that morning. Sam came out of his reverie and looked around at the busy city streets: “Are we heading for anywhere particular? I thought we’d just be finding a motel?”

The other grunted but eventually responded even as he carefully guided the Impala through the heavy traffic. “Just checkin’ where the Coroner’s Office is again. Took me ages to find it last time.”

The younger man nodded and sat up straight in his seat to try and concentrate on recognising where they were: “There’s a sign to Douglas Park. I seem to remember it’s near there… yeah, that’s it. I’m sure it’s that way…”

They eventually found West Harrison Street and drove along it. But as they finally recognised the building they were looking for, they were surprised to see that there was still a light on inside. Dean pulled his Baby up across the street and moved to open the driver’s door.

Sam moved to stop him, but stalled with his hand still outstretched mid-air, momentarily hesitant to risk touching his brother: “Where are you going? We’re still in our civvies?”

Dean glanced back at him: “Worth a try,” he grunted, and got out of the car. Sam sighed but followed as they crossed the road and made their way to the office.

The door was locked as per the times on the opening hour’s sign, but as they stood at the door, they could see a smartly dressed, dark-haired woman moving around inside. Dean knocked smartly on the glass and beckoned her over, holding his ‘FBI’ badge up to show her as he did. Despite his misgivings, Sam moved to do the same.

“I’m sorry, gentleman: the office is closed.” She had opened the door a crack, but decided that the two good-looking men outside were worth taking a second look at.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Dean was giving her his most charming smile: “we just saw the light and thought we’d try on the off-chance. I know we don’t _look_ official, but we’ve been sent to Chicago to investigate the Panietti case: we can come back tomorrow morning if that’s more convenient…”

“Panietti?” She was surprised. “Her body’s already been returned to her family: I _think_ she’s been cremated. But you’re welcome to see her file while I finish up writing my report… as long as you’re quick.”

“Of course, ma’am.” And they were being allowed in.

They would have preferred it if they could have seen the actual corpse… but the photos were certainly graphic enough that both of the brothers automatically inhaled as they saw them. It had been an extremely violent death.

The petite brunette had basically been shredded into pieces by something… and that _something_ had either had very long, sharp claws… or had gone completely psychotic on the woman with a long, sharp knife. Or knives.

“Do _you_ think this was done by an animal?” Dean asked the Coroner as she returned to take back the folder.

She considered for a moment: “No,” she finally admitted. “I don’t. I’ve _seen_ animal attacks: there’s no bite marks, no trace of fur. Not one single hair...

But then…” She shook her head at herself. “There’s no trace that a _human_ was in there either. Not that the _forensics_ could find. And there’s nothing on any of the CCTV cameras… and there are a lot in that area: it’s an affluent area, there’s _lots_ of security…

 _Nothing_ went into that apartment. The whole day. Before she came home… there was nothing. And _nothing_ went out. The whole _night_. Or during the day before she was found. No clue as to animal or human at all… but…”

“But?”

“It seemed personal, Agent Bonham. I know that sounds ridiculous, but… the violence. The expression in her face as she died… it wasn’t just terror… it was… shame, somehow. And her eyes, to me at least… look as if she was _pleading_ …

We’ve listed it as an animal attack to try and prevent panic. There was a large dog loose that had to be destroyed by the Humane Society the next day: we’ve managed to ‘link’ the two reports in the minds of the public. But it’s definitely still an open case. No clues. Jayden Panietti went into her own apartment.

Alone.

And _died_ there.

Alone.

Anyway, gentlemen: that’s me done for the night. If you need any more information, you’ll have to return tomorrow.” And she was retrieving the file from them, and showing them out as they thanked her for her time.

“Where to next? Motel? Or…?” Sam asked as they got back into the Impala.

“Might as well take a look at her apartment. You got the address?”

“Okay.”

There was another hour of almost total silence in the car while they found the area that the dead woman had lived and died in, aside from Dean’s occasional curse and offensive gesture at a few late-working commuters who seemed to be more interested in what they would be having for their supper, than staying on the correct side of the road and getting home alive.

If he were being honest with himself, then Sam didn’t know _what_ to say. He couldn’t _help_ but keep going over and over the revelations that had finally come out that morning: Sam had hoped… he had _prayed_ that Dean had said the part about him being all but owned by the AE only as a taunt because he was upset at Sam and embarrassed about being taken by the prince.

The truth had proved to be _far_ worse.

That wording of the contract kept reverberating around and around inside his head. There must be some way around it, there _had_ to be.

Please God, let him find _some_ way to break that contract.

But in the meantime… he didn’t know what to say to _Dean_. How could his brother still be there with him…? Well, of course he _had_ to stay with Sam now, or he would simply be claimed back by the AE as theirs… but it must be _killing_ the older man inside.

It was killing _Sam_ … and he had only just found out about it.

Perhaps Castiel had been right? Perhaps he should just ask the angel to take Dean somewhere well out of the range of the AE, and just leave Sam to face the consequences that would surely follow. That would be no less than he deserved…

 _And_ it would at least mean that his brother would be safe and no longer being abused.

Perhaps that might be a solution?

Perhaps that was the _only_ solution…

Even if it _did_ mean that he would lose Dean… probably for ever this time… But at least his brother might start to see how Castiel so obviously looked at him…

 _Perhaps_ he might even feel the same way in return, without the distraction of having to deal with and worry about a little brother addicted to blood and power, or a little brother guilt-ridden with shame, or a little brother who had all but sold his beloved _big_ brother because he had been brought back from Hell somehow without a soul…

Perhaps Dean _would_ fall in love with Castiel, if Sam could just stop being selfish for once, and let him have the chance…

He was disturbed from these depressing thoughts by the realisation that the Impala was being pulled over and the engine turned off. On looking around, Sam saw that they were in an area that was half city, half suburbs: there were trees lining the street and bushes and even small communal gardens surrounding the edges of what had been originally large, individual town houses, but which now had each been separated into various apartments, the numerous buzzers of which were glowing with fluorescent electrical power in the small panels outside the outer front doors of the residences.

He checked the house number of Jayden’s address on the slip of paper in his hand and moved to open his door… then realised that Dean was still sitting silently and motionless in his seat: his hands both now off the steering wheel and instead huddled into his lap between his thighs, his head down as if he would have removed himself from this whole situation if he could…

Sam took his hand back from the door handle and resettled himself in the passenger’s side. He knew Dean. _Nobody_ would ever know him better. And he could see his brother was trying to steel himself to say something that he didn’t want to… not out loud, anyway. So Sam just sat and waited…

“I saw how you were, with Castiel this morning.” The abrupt sound of the deep, gravelly voice made Sam start a little. “And what you said… about him… caring for me… well, I don’t know. I don’t see why he would. Or how _anybody_ would.

No, let me talk.” He hadn’t seemed to look around at all, but he knew that Sam was opening his mouth to disagree… the younger man closed it again with a frown. “All I’m trying to say… is that… I… there’s … well…”

He visibly took a deep breath and forced himself to speak, staring steadily at his own hands as he did, his ears giving away the depth of his sudden embarrassment about admitting these feelings: “All it is… is that, well, Sammy… you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about in that respect: that’s all I’m trying to say.

I’m yours. Heart and Soul.

Always have been: always will be.

As long as you can bear to have me around this time, then I’ll be here. That’s all I wanted to say. Just needed to tell you, that’s all.”

And he was getting out of the car, pushing the door shut behind him and heading to the house that contained the apartment.

Leaving Sam sitting absolutely _stunned_ on his own in the passenger seat.

Shit, Dean had just come as close to telling him that he loved him as his brother _ever_ would be able to: that must have been so hard for him to say as… the older man _never_ showed his feelings. Not like that.

But what had he meant… about Sam bearing to be around him? Surely he knew how Sam felt about him as well…?

 _Surely_ he did?

But he had done his typical Dean thing of walking away from a conversation that he didn’t want to risk hearing the response to. Again. He _always_ did that: leaving the room… driving away. Exiting the car as if that would be an end to the discussion…

Well, not _this_ fucking time.

Dean had just tentatively rung the buzzer to the apartment, to check that there was nobody in the deceased woman’s apartment _before_ they broke into it, when his arm was suddenly seized in an iron grip by a large, strong hand and he found himself being dragged physically away from the front door and around the corner to the side of the house, before being slammed upright against the wall: his back pressed to the solid brick, and an equally solid chest pressed firmly against his front so that he couldn’t move away even if he wanted to.

He looked up with surprise into his younger brother’s eyes… and blinked his gaze away as he saw the mixture of anxiousness and love in them. “Dean?” Sam paused while he tried to think through his next words. This was important: he had to get Dean to hear him. He had to get him to understand.

“No matter what you think, no matter how it’s looked: I have _always_ been _yours._ I’m serious,” As he felt his brother sigh and almost slump a little where he stood, although still being held up by Sam’s larger body. “I knew I was going to lose you… I knew you were going to be _taken_ from me. And I got obsessed with trying to save you: I _know_ that.

I got so obsessed that I all but drove you away myself… and when you returned from… that place…

I was an addict, Dean. No better than any other druggie. I…” Sam took a deep breath. “I was addicted to demon blood, and what I thought it gave me… and no matter what I do, I will never be able to rid myself of the shame of what I was, and what I did, and there are probably a lot of people still out there who _curse_ my name every day… but.

It all started with _you_.” And Dean was looking back up at him, the green eyes staring into his own. “Because I was losing you, and you’re my… _Everything_.

You always _have_ been.”

He waited momentarily for a response, watching his brother’s eyes as they flickered through various emotions: surprise, disbelief, doubt, denial, uncertainty… and eventually sadness as his life-long self-loathing kicked in and buried all of Sam’s words beneath his own certainty of inadequacy and rejection.

“No. No!” And the younger man was bending his own face down to meet Dean’s: lips gently touching lips. The kiss this time was tender, not like the one from just that morning when Sam had all but forcibly demanded entry to his brother’s mouth. _Now_ he was determined to keep his touch soft… although he couldn’t help himself from licking along Dean’s lower lip in an unspoken enquiry for access…?

And the older man opened his mouth to let Sam in.

They just stood against the wall of the house and kissed for a few moments. And Sam felt he had never known anything as wonderful in all his life. He wished he didn’t have to do something as mundane as breathing, but eventually he had to… although he still kept both his hands either side of his brother’s face and jaw… he wasn’t quite sure when he had moved to do _that_ … and held him tenderly, not giving Dean the chance to look away.

“I love you.”

But he wasn’t surprised when the green eyes still seemed a little unsure. Perhaps another kiss would help his brother believe him…

And another one, just for good measure.

When Sam felt Dean’s hands tentatively come up to finger through his hair, the need to drag his brother back to the Impala and just go and find a motel as quickly as possible was so intense that he nearly gave in to it. But…

At the back of his mind was the jibe that the prince had made about him ‘marking his territory’ before allowing Dean to get into his car.

Had he been forcing his brother to sleep with him these past few months? Sam was almost afraid to ask.

He still had so many questions, although right at that moment they could wait…

But if he _had_ , and he had the horrible feeling that that would have been the _first_ thing that that soulless version of him would have done… simply because of his _own_ intense desire for Dean… then how could he expect his brother to think of him as any different from the cold-hearted creature that he had been for the last year and a half, if his very first action, that of expecting Dean to have sex with him, was exactly the same?

No, Sam determined, and tried to ignore his own disappointment: he would have to take it slow. They were going to have to go back to the beginning of their relationship and start again. And _this_ time, he was going to fucking make sure that Dean was _never_ taken away from him by anything, monster or otherwise, again.

Although, as Sam’s brain began to whirr into overdrive… perhaps even the situation _now_ might turn out to be a good thing. Because it was now important that _he_ had to stay safe, to save Dean from being returned to the clutches of the AE if anything happened to him: so perhaps… just perhaps… he could use it as his chance to get his brother away from Hunting once and for all? After all, if they _both_ gave up chasing after monsters then it would stop, or at least lessen, the chance of him being killed by one.

Even _Dean_ might see the logic of that!

He came out of his daydream to realise that his brother was just gazing up at him, still trapped between Sam’s firm torso and the unforgiving wall, his face still being caught and held in the younger man’s two large strong hands, but without any seeming complaint at all. Sam smiled lovingly and kissed him yet again: “We’d better get this done. Then we’ll go and find dinner somewhere. And then somewhere to stay…

And… And… can I start to hold you again at night, Dean? Nothing more, not unless you want it. But I _have_ missed having you in my arms so much: I’d settle for just knowing you’re safe… or as safe as you can be. Would that be okay with you?”

“I’ve missed this.”

He stared down in surprise at Dean, who seemed just as stunned, and more than horrified at his own suddenly blurted-out admission.

His face coloured and he tried to look away even as Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Missed what? Kissing _me?_ We can do more… as much as you want.” And he was trying not to smirk as he looked down at his blushing brother…

Who impossibly reddened even more.  “Not _this_. I mean… it’s nice. But I’ve missed _you_.

You…” He sighed as Sam took enough pity to stop grinning, but instead moved to gently nudge his nose against his brother’s cheek questioningly, and ghost his lips once more over Dean’s while he waited for him to explain: “You’re always so gentle with me. Once you knew what I am, at least. Nobody else has ever been like that…

That other thing… the other Sam. It may have looked like you. But it wasn’t. So you don’t have to worry at all about what’s happened, Sammy, because it wasn’t _you_.

I _knew_ it wasn’t, right from the off. And that’s the only thing that’s kept me going through these last few months: the knowledge that it _wasn’t_ you, and you must still be out there somewhere.”

“Is that why you contacted Death? To get me back? That was really dangerous, Dean. Bobby told me…” He was nuzzling against the older man’s ear now, relishing the shivers that were being caused in reaction to his warm breath.

“It didn’t matter, Sammy. Because if it had failed… then I’d have run out of options. That’s the only thing that’s kept me alive through these last few months. The hope that I could somehow get you back.”

“What are you saying?” Sam paused, his eyebrows  pulling together in a deep, worried frown: surely Dean couldn’t be meaning...?

“You _know_ what I’m saying, Sam. If Death hadn’t come through… well… that would’ve been it for me. I can’t do this anymore. Not if _you_ weren’t here… As _you_ , I mean…”

By this time, he had his head buried against Sam’s shoulder enough to make his words come through as a mumble, and the younger man had his arms wrapped tightly around him, holding Dean physically into the protection of his own muscled body. He was going to protect him for the rest of his life now: _whatever_ the future held, they were in it together. They would _always_ be…

“I’m so grateful you kept trying, Dean. And I’m _here_ now. I’m gonna look after you, now. I swear… I’m never going to let you go again. And we’re going to find a way to get you out of this…”

“There ain’t no way, Sam. The _other_ you tried. He was so mad he’d been tricked: said he’d get even with them no matter what…”

“There _is_ a way, Dean. We’ve just got to find it. And we will…

We always _do_.

I promise we will this time as well. We’ve _got_ to.”

And with one last tender mutual kiss, he was releasing Dean from the cage of his own body and arms so they could go and check the apartment as they had originally intended. Although he had to resist the temptation to hold his brother’s hand as he led him to the front door...

It felt such a relief to both of them to have the tension between them eased… although both their good moods dissipated a little once they had gained access to the deceased woman’s apartment. It was _saturated_ with the stench of death, and although well used to it, they _both_ had to swallow down bile as they entered.  The specialist cleaners that dealt with such events hadn’t been brought in yet, and the site of where Jayden Panietti had died was obvious: the couch was _covered_ in stale, brown blood, and the room itself was splattered with sprays of it.

Sam lost the game of ‘rock, paper, scissors’ and began to search around and beneath the stained covers, while Dean looked around the rest of the apartment. Despite the age of the original building, it was modern in a clean, hygienic kind of way: it was a lovely place to stay in, but nothing about it felt like a home. Everything was too perfect… if it were in a showhouse. And there were hardly any personal knick-knacks: no framed photographs, no books or magazines that looked like they actually been read, no coffee rings on the tables or toothpaste spatters in the bathroom, no dirty mugs left in the basin. No marks of habitation at all.

The only exception to the stagnancy was a couple of photos stuck to the extremely large and extremely empty (hungry as always, Dean had checked. Just in case) refrigerator. Even as he pulled them down to examine them more closely, Sam was calling to him from the open area that was the main room: “It’s definitely our witch again. Hex bag stuffed deep down in the cushions: _deep_ down. Somebody sat there and forced it right down so it wouldn’t be found…”

Dean turned to see as his brother approached and put it down on the counter beside him. “So, our ‘someone’ must have been in here. With your… the deceased. Or at least had access to the apartment…”

“Yeah.” Sam ignored his slip, preferring instead to reach to slide his arms around Dean’s waist and draw him towards him as he leant back against the kitchen top: after those kisses outside, he knew he never wanted to let go of his brother ever again.

Not _ever_.

“But she’s not _my_ anything… there’s only one that I _ever_ want called mine from now: I _mean_ that…” And he was leaning forwards to claim his brother’s lips again as Dean allowed himself to be manhandled into the gap created by his spread long legs.

As far as he was concerned the kiss was too fleeting, but then to his annoyance Dean was stepping back: “Look at these.” And he was showing Sam the two pictures he had in his hands:

Both showed the same group of four women: Jayden Panietti herself and Saskia Mitchell, along with two unknowns. The first photograph was of them at their High School, all dressed in the same cheerleading team colours: four energetic, beautiful, vibrant young women at the beginning of their adult lives.

The second showed them at what the banner behind them proclaimed, was the High School reunion that had happened just a few weeks before: expensively dressed, made-up to perfection, arms genuinely around each other’s shoulders as they each seductively pouted for the camera.

“They looked happy. But two of the four now dead. You think that’s a coincidence?” Sam commented as he stared at the pictures.

“ _They_ might have been happy, but take a look at the faces of the people behind…”

And even as Sam surreptitiously moved to tighten the space between his legs, and coincidentally bring his brother’s body back closer to his, he was obeying and studying the pictures… Dean was correct: the four women in the foreground might have been happy and contented, but unanimously the faces in the crowd behind, in _both_ photos, were scowling in their direction, or showing outright sneering hatred.

“You think one of those is our witch?”

Dean shrugged: “It’s somewhere to start.” And he was breaking free from the younger man’s now determined but loving grasp around his waist to reach for his cell phone: “Mr Mitchell? Agent Bonham here. Yes. Yes, I heard about Ms Panietti: I’m truly sorry, sir. I just have some questions if you don’t mind… Yes, we’re looking into _her_ death as well, sir…”

He pulled away as Sam tried to hold his hand, unwilling to even let him be just a few feet away now that the tension had eased between them a bit. Sam bit his lip in frustration, but waited, albeit impatiently, until he had finished the call. “Anything?”

Dean turned from where he had walked across the room to the table, his notebook in his hand. “The two other ladies are Magdalaina Ramirez and Desiree O’Donnell. They were a tight-knit foursome during their school years, stayed solid through College and are, or were, still best friends even now. They thought they were the queens of the school, had little or no time for anybody else, which Mr Mitchell seems to think was quite sweet… it seems that Saskia was his high school crush, sounds like he worshipped the ground she walked on… and even gave themselves a group name: the ‘Ice Maidens’, because they were too ‘cool’ to bother with anyone else below what they considered their status...”

“They sound charming.” Sam commented. “Is that _really_ what the husband said…?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Dean had now returned to his side as they both leant against the kitchen counter. “You saw how he was with your little brunette even when he was grieving for his wife… ‘normal’ standards don’t apply: it was all about _them_.

I asked their backgrounds: he’s the son of a naval Lieutenant; was the, in his words, ‘star’ of the school football team, and now has his own private medical practice.

But his wife was the daughter of _two_ doctors: he was amazed when she actually began to _look_ at him. Panietti here was the daughter of a Company Director in one of the biggest companies in Norfolk, Virginia which is where they all hail from. O’Donnell’s parents ran _the_ restaurant to be seen in, emphasis on the ‘ _The_ ’… and Ramirez also came from money, although nobody was ever exactly sure what from. But her old man certainly had, and still has, a reputation in the local area that it was inadvisable to cross him…

Sam considered: “So, Saskia still seemed to have the talent for making herself unpopular before she died… If they were all like that… these ‘Ice Maidens’: all with money and ideas of self-importance, then” he glanced back down at the photo in his hand, “the reunion _could_ have brought up old memories… and old _grievances_ …”

“Good a possibility as any…” Dean stood up straight and reached for the pictures again. “Ramirez lives in New York: O’Donnell runs her own restaurant in Sacramento. If we’re right, it’ll be one of them next…” And he glanced back down at the faces in the crowd behind the four women…

“And possibly we’ve got the face of the killer right here.”   

 


	10. On the Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting: life has gotten in the way by getting extremely busy! But please be assured that this story has by no means been forgotten!

Sam couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he drove the Impala to New York.

Because he had woken up that morning with his brother in his arms.

They may have both still been fully clothed, but Sam would take it. He had just missed holding Dean _so_ much.

They had always slept together as children. Dean had been Sam’s only constant in the insecure and nomadic existence that they called their childhood, and it had taken him years to realise that he only _really_ felt safe and secure when his big brother was with him. Dean had been the rock that grounded him, the sanctuary that he automatically … even now… ran to when he needed help, or security, or just… solace.

And he had only really slept peacefully and soundly when he was curled up next to his brother. Not even with Jess: he had loved her, he really had, but Dean’s arms had always… felt like _Home_.

There had been nothing sexual about it… not at first… Sam wasn’t quite sure when he had started to want Dean in _that_ way… but, once he had discovered what the other man was… and all the abuse that he had already gone through and had still been suffering both from the hands of their own father and from the AE … it had just seemed natural for him to return the favour…

He had wanted to physically be the place where his brother could actually feel safe enough to sleep: where he knew he would be protected. Because Sam would have given anything to protect his brother.

Although it had come as an unpleasant shock to them both just how far he _had_ gone in the name of ‘protecting’ Dean. He had completely lost _sight_ of protecting Dean!

And he had driven so deep a wedge of pain and mistrust between himself and his brother as a result.

But now… Sam felt that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The discussions the previous day, although upsetting, had eased the tension so much.

There were no more secrets hidden. _Surely_ there couldn’t be any more secrets between them!

And more importantly, Dean didn’t blame him for what he had done without a soul… or rather what his body had done without him. Sam knew he had so much to make up from before: he was honest enough with himself to accept that his brother might never fully get over his betrayal with Ruby. He had every right not to forgive or forget _that_.

For _Sam_ couldn’t believe what he had done.

He would never forget or forgive _himself_. How could he have been so stupid to have believed a _demon?_ Their dad had forced them their entire lives to hunt down one, told them over and over how evil the things were, and he had… just blindly _trusted_ one?

Could he have been any more wrong? He would never, in the whole of the rest of his life, _never_ forget the sadness and shame in his brother’s eyes just after he let the Devil loose on the world.

But at least… Dean didn’t blame him for these last few months. Although… even though it hadn’t actually _been_ him… Sam would carry enough for them both. Always. For how could even a version of himself without a soul have treated his brother like this…?

But Dean had glanced at him last night… as Sam had bitten at his lips nervously, desperate to ask his brother if he could just _hold_ him but nervous about the response… and, after a momentary hesitation, had slipped his boots off and joined the younger man in the single bed.

It hadn’t mattered at all that they had both remained dressed: Sam had buried his face into the back of his brother’s soft hair and just breathed in his presence.

In consequence Sam had slept the best that he had managed for a long time. And he had felt Dean sleep as well, and that was a major bonus as he had been worried about the way his brother seemed to be drinking his way through the night rather than actually resting, for a very long time.

And now they were driving to New York, and Sam just couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

He glanced across to where his brother was sitting, just staring out of the passenger window at nothing in particular as far as Sam could see. The younger man took the chance to study Dean: he had thought him handsome for as long as he could remember… and even now, as his face was beginning to cover with more and more lines, somehow they didn’t detract from his good looks at all.

In fact, Sam decided, his brother was definitely looking better and better as he aged. Especially when he felt the younger man’s gaze on him and turned his head a little in response, enough that the light caught those amazing green irises and made them shine as luminously and as mesmerising as the most perfect Northern Lights shining in a dark night sky.

And then they were sparkling even more as Dean was smiling back at him. “What’cha so happy about?”

“This. Seems like a long time since we’ve just been on a… plain old _Hunt_. No demons screwing with us, no Angels dicking us around, no end of the world, just… _us_. You and me.”

Dean nodded, but otherwise made no response, the gleam in his eyes now fading a little to sadness as his own thoughts encroached.

“We’re going to get you out of this, Dean.” He looked back over at Sam in surprise at the abruptness and certainty in the younger man’s words. “There’s got to be a way. No, there _has_.” as his brother groaned and started to argue. “We’ll find a way, Dean. We have to. I’m never losing you again.

 _Never._ ”

And Sam was bracing himself in determined defiance against the world. For it had better fucking well leave the Winchester brothers alone from now on!

Magdalaina Ramirez… or Magdalaina Collins, as her married name now was… had an apartment in Manhattan. Both brothers felt extremely poorly dressed even in their FBI suits, as they pressed the buzzer and showed their badges for the doorman to let them in.

They could feel the man’s eyes appraising them even as he called the apartment via its intercom: “You can go up. It’s the fourteenth floor.”

“Which number?”

But Dean’s innocent question was met with a contemptuous look up and down, and a sneer that made Sam want to punch the gold-braided, blue-uniformed man in the face: “We don’t have numbers on the door _here_. The clientele here are exclusive and we take care of _all_ their needs. We sort their mail; we deal with deliveries; we vet visitors… both the invited ones… _and_ the less desirable….”

And the tone of his voice made it extremely clear which category he thought Dean was in: _both_ the brothers in fact.

“Smarmy bastard…” The younger man was seething as they got into the elevator. “How dare he talk to you like that. I should go back there and…”

“Leave it, Sam. It don’t matter.”

His brother glanced over. Dean was looking down at his feet, his face not giving away a single trace of emotion.

But Sam wasn’t fooled. Even as the doors closed and took them out of the doorman’s view, he was up against Dean’s chest with just one of his large strides and pushing him back against one of the soft velvety padded walls, his large strong hands already holding either side of his brother’s face and gently insisting that he look up at him.  “I don’t like you having to put up with being spoken to as if you’re nothing. You’re not nothing, Dean.”

“We’re _both_ nothings here, Sam! The handbag that that lady who pushed past us as we came in was carrying probably cost more than my Baby…”

“But you’re beginning to think that that’s all you are: I can see it in your face.”

“That _is_ all I am, Sam.”

“It’s not, Dean. Not to the entire world, even though it doesn’t know it. And definitely not to me…”

Even as he was speaking, Sam was lowering his own face close enough to Dean’s that the older man could feel the wisp of lips against his own and warm breath across his cheeks.

“Sam, there’s a camera in the corner.” And he was trying to push Sam’s arms away even as he was hissing the warning. “We’re meant to be Feds.”

But then Sam’s mouth was on his, and despite himself, Dean opened his own lips to allow Sam in. The kiss was soft, and tender, and loving. Then the younger man was pressing his body closer as his desire began to grow. “It does matter. Because _you_ matter. You’re the _only_ thing that matters. You always have been, to me.” And he was starting in again for another, far more passionate, kiss.

But then his brother was abruptly twisting out of his arms enough to be able to turn his head away. Sam paused and glanced at him inquiringly, but his surprise turned to anxiety as he realised the green eyes were now momentarily shining with tears. “Dean?”

The very next instant, his brother was in control again and all traces of… _anything_ were gone from his face. But the crack in his voice gave away his still intense emotion: “Don’t do this, Sam.”

“Do what?” Sam didn’t understand. Things were getting better between them: why was Dean getting upset?

“Do _this_.” And he was being pushed away. “Say things like that. Make me hope that… you’ll stay this time. I can’t do that again, Sam. I can’t let myself lo…  Not if you’re just going to walk away again.”

“I won’t, Dean. I never will.”

“You did. You will. You chose… _her_.” Dean was now removing himself completely out of his younger brother’s reach and moving as far away as he could possibly get in the confined space even as Sam hesitated at the distraughtness in the older man’s voice

“I know. I know I did. But I never will again, Dean. I prom…”

“You will, Sam! I’m not what you want. Not really.

You’ll leave me again.”

These last words were uttered in little more than just a anguished whisper that Sam only barely managed to hear. But the elevator doors were opening with a soft swish, and as the young man looked around and through where they had been, he could see a woman waiting by an open door, the other side of the small hallway.

A woman that he recognised from the two photographs. An extremely attractive woman, who had bright blue eyes and long dark hair curling perfectly around her face.

With a sigh, and a glance in his brother’s direction that told him that Dean was now fully back in control and as stolidly emotionless as always, he reached for his ID badge and started towards her: “Magdalaina Collins? I’m Agent…”

“I’ve already told you assholes everything I know and none of you will listen! Jaydee and Sas were murdered by Anna Parkhouse, I don’t know how but she did, and she’ll be coming for me next!”

“Ma’am?”

Sam was taken aback by the vehemence in her words, but then his brother was beside him, his deep gravelly voice at its most calming: “ _We’re_ here to listen, ma’am. Now, why don’t you tell us from the beginning? Why do you think this Ms Parkhouse means to do you harm?”

Magdalaina stared up at the handsome FBI agent with disbelief: did he really mean it? But there was something in the green eyes… and the hazel ones of his partner… that made her nod and step back inside her apartment, holding the door open in invitation even as she was angrily spitting out her next words: “She _hates_ us. Stupid bitch! Just ‘cos we played a few tricks on her back at High School: she should be grateful we noticed her at all…”

“Take your time and tell us the whole story, ma’am. As my partner said, we’re a lot more open minded than some of our colleagues… ” Sam was trying to get her to sit down to answer his questions, but the woman was so irate that she was in constant motion around the room.

And what a room!

The brothers had never seen such an apartment. They couldn’t even begin to manage how much somewhere like that must have cost, but Sam decided that the view from the vast windows that looked out over Manhattan alone was worth it.

Dean’s attention was caught more by the television against the other wall that was nearly the same size as it and dominated the immaculate, light, bright and extremely white room, filled to the brim with expensive ornaments and furnishings. He was immediately determined not to touch anything at all, as he might have a whole wallet of fraudulent credit cards but probably the sum total that he could borrow from all of them _combined_ would barely cover the cost of a single item in this spacious sitting room! Gingerly he sat right at the edge of the seat of an armchair and waited as Sam finally managed to coax Magdalaina to settle onto the long corner couch and perched himself beside her.

“Now, Mrs Collins. Tell us about this Anna Parkhouse, and how you know her?”

The brunette rolled her eyes at him with a sneer, and turned her attention back to Dean. “I told you! She was at school with us! A little nobody amongst a whole class of nobodies! That’s why we kept ourselves to ourselves!”

“So… why do you think she’s wanting to hurt you? You said you’d played tricks…?”

“Yes! But the bloody little mouse never found them funny! And… I suppose… Jay did go a _bit_ too far at the dance… We thought it was really funny, but none of the others would speak to us after, even the others on the squad,” she looked really put out. “We thought they’d laugh as well, but they all looked at us like we were _dirt_ , and James Trevino actually _dumped_ me, the bastard.”

“What did Ms Panietti do?” The deep voice seemed calm, but Sam knew his brother well enough to know that he was every bit as disgusted and angry at the scathing tones and words of the woman as he himself was. “At the dance, what did she do?”

“Oh,” and Magdalaina was dismissive of him as well now. “Well, Anna’s mum was a widow and I _suppose_ they didn’t have money to waste, what with the mouse and her little sisters… certainly none of them ever had _anything_ that came out of anything but a thrift shop… but she came to this one dance in a dress that was… actually, it was really _nice_. _Really_ nice. We found out after that her mum had _made_ it herself for her… but anyway… it was _far_ too good for such an ugly little thing as _her_ …

The boys were all _looking_ at her.

So, Jaydee decided to do something about it. She slipped into the Home Ed room and got a pair of scissors, then we lured Anna out of the hall and held her down while Jay started to cut the dress off her. And then she was _screaming_ that we were going to kill her, and they all came running out of the dance to see and were yelling and pulling at us, and, when Anna finally got to her feet, we realised that the dress was really ripped and large parts of material were just hanging down, and it had blood on it as her skin had been caught in a few places as well and she was crying… and they all looked at us like…”

She stopped speaking abruptly, her lips pursed together so tightly that they made her look years older than she actually was. “The Principle actually dared to call my _dad_ in to his office: he had to promise to buy new uniforms for every single sports squad in our year, _and_ he took my Porsche away from me! It was all that stupid little mouse’s fault. All because she couldn’t take a joke!

So what are you going to do about her?!”

Both the brothers blinked. The brunette had hardly paused for breath during her tirade and the way she had told the story, putting herself and her friends as the ‘victims’, actually made them both immediately sympathise with this lady called Anna Parkhouse.

Sam recovered himself first. “So… is that why you think that she’s behind whatever happened to Ms Panietti? Because of this… little ‘trick’ that you and your friends played on her however many years ago?”

“Exactly! The bitch wants her revenge!”

“Why now?” Dean was speaking up. “No offence, but this was when you were all in High School. Why would she be coming for revenge _now?”_

“The Reunion.” Sam realised and glanced across at the older man. “When we met her at Saskia Mitchell’s, she was on about finding husband number three, once she’d got him away from his mouse of a wife…  Was that Anna Parkhouse she meant? Is it _her_ husband ….?”

 Mrs Collins pursed her lips but didn’t respond.  She didn’t have to.

“So why Mrs Mitchell…?” Dean asked. “You said she was responsible for both of their deaths… What reason had she to want Saskia Mitchell dead as well? Mrs Collins…?” He looked across at the brunette and waited.

But she was already getting up from her seat and motioning angrily for them to leave: “Like I said,” she spat, “the bitch couldn’t take a joke! Now, if you’re not going to help me, then I’ll find someone who can!”

“And what is that meant to mean?” Sam was astounded at how calm his brother managed to sound when he himself was seething at the sneering attitude of this self-obsessed bitch. “What are you going to do, Mrs Collins?”

She had already opened the front door, but the woman couldn’t help herself from stroking her hand appreciatively across Dean’s chest and smiling up at him lustily even as she was pushing against it to get them to leave the apartment. “Not _me_ , Agent. But my daddy _knows_ people. He won’t let _anything_ happen to me…

So, do your jobs and stop Anna Parkhouse. Before somebody else does.

 _Goodbye_ , Agents.”

And the door was being closed firmly in both of their faces.

“Jesus.” Dean summed up his feelings in that one sound. “I’m on team Parkhouse. Just in case you’re wondering.”

“Me too.” Sam admitted. “What now?”

“We head to Norfolk, find witnesses from both the school and the Reunion. Get the truth. And either stop a witch from getting some _much_ , in my opinion, deserved revenge… or stop an innocent woman from being killed by _this_ bitch.”

The younger man nodded and moved to call the elevator, before stepping back and motioning his brother to enter it first.  Dean looked surprised but obediently stepped inside, turning immediately to face the younger man as he followed.

But Sam remained silent as he pressed to descend and the doors smoothly slid shut behind them.

Then the moment his stomach felt the plush-padded metal box begin to move, he was abruptly in action, slapping at the emergency stop button and almost at the same time reaching his long arm up to the red blinking surveillance camera in the corner to disconnect the wire temporarily.

“Saaam?” Dean’s eyebrows raised with a slight nervousness as the younger but definitely larger man was suddenly advancing on him where he stood and pushing him back against the velvet padding. “What are you doing?”

“Ssh.” And Sam’s was pressing his whole body against his brother’s even as he was lowering his mouth down to cover Dean’s, his tongue teasing and probing against the other’s lips demanding to be allowed access. “ _You_ might have finished with our previous conversation, but _I_ haven’t.”

“But…” Dean was taken aback even as he instinctively opened his mouth for his master.

“No.” Sam kissed him again then pulled his head back enough to allow him to stare directly down into the green eyes, but without moving his body away in the slightest so that his brother wasn’t able to escape from him this time. “No. I need you to listen.

I need you to _hear_.

I know I’ve let you down: I know what I’ve done. And how badly I’ve screwed everything up. But I _will_ prove to you that I’m telling the truth when I say how much you mean to me.

And I _will_ win back your trust.

As well as your love. I’m gonna get that back as well.”

“You’ve never lost that, Sam.” And Dean was looking up at him without the slightest hesitation. “You _never_ will.”

“I don’t mean as just your kid brother, Dean.” It was uttered in almost a snarl that the older man could feel through his whole body, Sam was pressing against him so closely so that it was almost painfully uncomfortable. “ _Or_ as your master.”

And Sam was bending his head to meet the older man’s lips again with his own in what gradually became an extremely deep kiss, trying to resist the temptation to allow his hands to wander. “I’m going to win you back as _mine_. I’m going to be the man you want to take to bed: the man you want to wake up next to… “

“Sam…”

But whatever Dean was going to say was cut off by his younger brother’s fingers suddenly but gently stroking down each side of his torso before wrapping around him: “I’m going to prove to you that I’m worth taking that risk on. And I am _never_ going to let you down again.

I sw...”

This time Dean managed to interrupt: “Don’t say it, Sam. Just… don’t. We both know how that all too often ends. Let’s just take it a day at a time, okay?” And he was looking up at the larger man, his eyes swimming with moisture once more and pleading.

Sam nodded and leant down to kiss him again. “Okay.  Okay, Dean. One day at a time.” And this time, the older man was tentatively sliding his hands up and around his neck and returning the passion with one hundred percent interest.

It was only with reluctance that they finally broke apart. That and the realisation that they were still in the elevator and that the security guard-cum-doorman would soon be getting suspicious. With a sigh, Sam stepped back to reconnect the camera and reset the button, pulling Dean bodily with him so that they could both stand out of the restricted field of view that it had and compose themselves before the doors once more opened on the ground floor.

At least the uniformed man was otherwise occupied as they exited the plush-coated steel box: he was busy signing for a plain-looking brown cardboard covered package that had just arrived by courier. Sam began to hurry past, not wanting to risk having to hear another sneered comment from the disparaging servant, but Dean paused momentarily.

“Here.” And he was moving to hand the uniformed man his ‘card’. “I bet nothing gets by _you!_ And I’m sure you notice a lot of what happens here. We’re worried that the lady might be in danger…

Take this. Just in case. And if there’s something that strikes you as… being out of the ordinary… However stupid it seems… Give us a call.”

The man looked taken aback. “You really think Mrs Collins is in danger? I know she hasn’t made herself very popular, especially with the other tenants … all her demands… I mean… Not that any of the clientele _here_ would _ever_ do anything… ” He hastily added as he realised what he had just so abruptly blurted out

Dean shrugged, _too_ casually. “I’m sure not. But two of her best friends are dead… both in suspicious circumstances… We’re looking at all possibilities...“ He again offered the card. “And we’d hate anyone _else_ to get caught in the proximity if it’s _not_ a coincidence…”

This time the man paled and hastily took the small slip with the ‘FBI Agent’s contact details on, securing it safely in his wallet.

Then the Winchesters were both outside in the busy streets of Manhattan once more.  Dean glanced at his watch: “We better grab our gear and get going. It’s going to be quite a drive to Norfolk.”

“To hell with that.” The younger man informed him. “We’re in New York! We’re going to get tickets for a show and have a night off.”

Then he was sighing at his brother’s horrified reaction. “Sam, we’re on a case…”

“We’re _always_ on a case! And this one will still be there tomorrow! We’ve earnt a break, just for once. I mean it, Dean: no argument…” as the older man’s expression turned hostile. “And… if I have to pull rank and order you, then… I _will_.

Meal. A show. Night off! Okay?

 _Okay?_ ”

Sam was torn between using his preferred bitch-face or his perfected puppy-dog eyes as he gave this little speech, but to his relief, Dean grunted and grumped… but eventually nodded in acquiescence. “I suppose…”

“Good.” And Dean was going red in the face as he got caught with the full effect of his beloved younger brother’s deep dimples, much to Sam’s tremendous amusement and great satisfaction…

Not that he would _ever_ be stupid enough to tell Dean that! 

 


	11. The Third Victim

Dean was awake abruptly.

All his Hunter instincts were screaming at him that he was being watched as he slept. His eye lids burst open as he was trying to sit up, knife already in his hand from its hiding place beneath the pillow, to be ready to face…

… Sam, who was lying beside him on the bed: propped up on one elbow, palm tucked under the side of his head, his eyes fixed on Dean.

Smiling.

The older man caught his breath, automatically beginning to try and calm it and his heart rate down, as their dad… well, _Sam’s_ dad and his _master_ … had taught him to, and lay back down on his back, sliding the knife safely out of the way once more. “Shit, Sam! Watcha’ staring at?”

“You,” was the easy answer, and Sam was leaning forward for a lazy morning kiss, his fingers running through the short hair as they moved to lightly hold the back of his brother’s head. Then he was lying his own head back down beside Dean’s, close enough that his long soft locks tickled against the older man’s skin and he could nuzzle into his ear. “That wasn’t so bad, last night, was it? You seemed to be enjoying yourself….?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, okay: it was okay… What was it called again? La Cage of…?”

“La Cage aux Folles. And I saw you singing along when you thought I wasn’t watching!”

“Well, I actually knew some of the _songs!_ ”

Sam couldn’t help himself from chuckling at his brother’s incredulity at his own admission. “It could have been worse: I could have dragged you along to The Addams Family!”

Then it was _his_ turn to be incredulous… “Nah, that one’s actually quite good, especially whas’is’name… Nathan Lane… he was _really_ good!”

“You’ve… er… You’ve _seen_ it?”

“Oh yeah. The prince likes pretending to be a patron of the arts. And he’s loved being able to show _me_ off these last few months… Although… it was unusual for us to go to a musical, must have been someone he was trying to impress: he usually prefers more serious works… Shakespeare or Tennessee Williams: dull as _hell_ …” Then he was brightening suddenly: “ _Fences_ was good though. Denzel Washington was terrific. I was so excited when we went backstage, I could hardly speak to him…”

The younger man sat up straight and stared down at his brother: “You’ve met Denzel Washington!?!?!”

But their conversation was interrupted by Dean’s cell phone ringing in his jacket pocket. Even as he was getting out of the bed to fetch it, Sam was angrily mentally filing a list of all the questions that he had been just about to ask: a couple about one of his favourite film stars who his brother had actually met and never _told_ him about!…and a _lot_ about the prince.

Then the look on Dean’s face as he spoke on the cell, glancing back at Sam with a definitely serious expression, drove away all thought of any of them.

He sighed and also slipped out from beneath the covers to begin to pull on his denims and over-shirts. His brother had actually been in a good enough mood to not argue when he had suggested simply stripping down to just t-shirts and boxers last night.  Which meant that, as soon as Dean had fallen asleep, the younger man had been able to tangle their bare legs and lie awake for as long as he could, luxuriating in the feel and close proximity of the other man. _And_ he had managed to slide his hand beneath Dean’s tight top to rest his long fingers against the firm warm skin beneath.

All in all, Sam decided, _that_ had been the best night he had had in a very long time.

Dean finished talking and disconnected the call: “Suit up. That was that stuck-up doorman from yesterday… Our new favourite lady…? Found dead this morning…”

“You’re kidding!”

But his brother was already pulling clothes out of his bag with a grim face: “And apparently… it _wasn’t_ an accident.”

This time as they entered the apartment building, the blue-uniformed concierge all but ran across the floor to greet them, his face ashen to the point of being grey, and the gold-braided cap askew. “Agent Bonham! You were right! Who or whatever did this… they must have… right in _here_. Right past… It could have been… _me!”_

“At least it wasn’t, sir.” The deep gravelly voice was at its most soothing even as the brothers were flashing their (fake) ID’s to the multitude of uniformed officers filling the lobby, and hoping that none of them looked _too_ closely. “Now. Can you tell us what happened?”

They got what few details there were as they were heading up to the apartment once again: Magdalaina Collins had gone out for dinner without her husband the previous evening as was actually quite usual, him being away on business more often than not: the doorman had hailed her a cab and given the destination of a local prestigious restaurant.

She had returned about half past ten, in a foul mood as one of the other diners had on a similar pair of the very latest style of Gucci shoes. Apparently Mrs Collins had stormed in to the apartment entry hall, screaming about someone being a ‘copying bitch’ who had obviously ‘paid for them on her back’, and that her daddy would be having serious words with the store manager. She was already shrieking piercingly into her cell as she had entered the elevator.

And that had been the last that anybody seemed to have seen her, until the building’s resident maid had entered it that morning, and found… what she had found… in the main bedroom.

The previously immaculate apartment was now a crime scene, and full of forensic-suited men and women. Sam and Dean slipped beneath the tape that was across the doorway and began to make their way through, keeping inconspicuous and listening in to as many conversations as they could on the way.

Mrs Collins’ body was still in there. Or what was left of it, anyway.

She was lying on her bed: the covers were rumpled and had been drawn back as if she had been woken in the night by… something. But she now lay on top of them: her body frozen into a taut and twisted shape as she had died… and her entire skull crushed down to less than half its normal width, squashed by something that had caused it to split open and deposit everything inside… brain matter, blood and fragments of bone… all over the top of the designer bedding and splattered on the surrounding floor.

Sam swallowed hard as he stared at it… her… and glanced across at Dean, who met his glance steadily and gave a small, imperceptible nod. This time, it was Sam who moved to ask questions and generally keep every else’s eyes on him as much as possible, while Dean surreptitiously searched the room.

And then the next room. And then everywhere else he could think of in the spacious apartment, right down to the garbage bin in the kitchen.

And that was where he found the remains of a plain brown cardboard parcel-box, complete with shreds of packaging discarded and scattered on the floor all around the shining silver container rather than in it. Dean could recollect the concierge signing for it the previous day as they had left the building.

So what had been inside?

Stepping outside the apartment momentarily, he pressed the ‘return call’ button on his cell and had a brief conversation with the previously unhelpful doorman.

Sam was still inside the bedroom when he returned, morosely watching as the investigators finished taking their samples. He looked round gratefully as his brother slipped back through the door, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Dean nodded towards the dressing table beneath the large window and edged his way around the forensics team still surrounding the body.

“What is it?” The younger man hissed as he joined him.

But Dean momentarily didn’t answer as he was busy examining the box that he had noticed earlier, the box that served as both container and display stand for the perfume inside it. With a glance at Sam, he removed the decorative shaped glass bottle and pulled out the shaped soft padding that it was resting in…

To uncover the small hex bag nestling beneath.

They both breathed out hushed sighs: “Definitely our witch then… Not that I was expecting anything else…”

“The concierge said that it was delivered as an anonymous gift ‘from an admirer’… _and_ that gifts like these weren’t an unusual occurrence for the lady. Although she _had_ seemed to be genuinely surprised by this one… apparently she had ripped into the packaging immediately as she was still talking to him at her door and all but squealed with excitement when she saw the perfume. I take it, it’s expensive…?”

Sam shrugged: “Joy. Jean Patou. Never heard of it. Doesn’t seem very apt in this case.”

By this time, Dean had pocketed the hex bag and carefully replaced the padding and bottle into their previous positions. “What are _they_ saying?” as he indicated the people diligently working behind them.

“That her skull appears to be squashed almost flat by something of considerable weight, _that_ something _unknown_ , as there seems to be nothing in here that could have been used to do this… there’s no sign of blood anywhere else in the room… _and_ that…”

He paused. His brother waited.

“It wasn’t quick, Dean. If it had just _happened_ , she wouldn’t have known anything about it: her body would have been relaxed. No, this was done over a long time, probably hours. That’s why she’s all tensed like that… whatever it was, it slowly lowered, and she would have felt every inch of it as the bone started to crack…”

The older man grunted. “Well, nothing more we can do here. Let’s get on down to Norfolk, and find this Parkhouse woman.”

Sam nodded in agreement and they excused themselves from the apartment. The doorman all but tackled Dean to the ground as they emerged from the elevator, his hands clinging around his FBI protector with a close to hysterical look in his eyes. “Agent Bonham! _Was_ it to do with that parcel?  I signed for it! My fingerprints will be on it! What if they think I’m a suspect? What if… whoever… thinks I saw something? What if they come back? Do you think it’s… a mafia hit? Or a drug baron…?

What if _I’m_ next?”

Dean disentangled himself from the other’s arms as quickly as he could, ignoring Sam’s automatic instinct to smirk at the sight. “Mr Robinson… Douglas! _Did_ you see anything? Was there something unusual about the courier that you can tell us about…?”

The other was already shaking his head, tears of fear streaming down his cheeks: “No. _No!_ It was the usual delivery man for that parcel company. There was nothing that… could have made me suspect…”

“Then you _couldn’t_ have seen anything, Douglas. And it’s only natural that your prints will be on it… as will be those of the delivery driver, and Mrs Collins. And to be honest… the FBI are privy to certain… information… that, for the moment, we don’t deem to be… necessary… to share with the local authorities just yet… so… if no one else asks you about the parcel, you don’t need to bother mentioning it either.  You told _us._ And that was the _correct_ thing to do.”

The cap was bouncing from side to side on the man’s head, he was nodding so vigorously: “Of course, of _course_ , Agent. As long as I did my duty…”

“You did indeed, sir.” And Dean was following his brother through the glass front doors, trying to resist the urge to smack him hard on the large shoulder as he did. He gave the younger man a wry look as they both emerged onto the sidewalk and into the sunshine. “Not funny, Sam. The poor man’s in bits.”

“He nearly had you over when we came out of the elevator!” Sam couldn’t help himself from grinning. “Where was your training _then?_ ”

“Ha, ha.” And Dean started to turn away, ready to return to the car. “He must have been watching the feed from the CCTV camera to see it was _us_ descending! Let’s just hope he didn’t see any of it _yesterd_ …”

He stopped speaking abruptly. His whole stance went rigid and tense. And he was staring at…

Sam was immediately alert as well, reaching his hand to his back to get his gun and looking to see what had caused such a reaction in his brother.

He could see nothing momentarily.

The street was as full of life as a Manhattan street in the middle of the day usually was. There were sounds of car horns, and sirens in the distance, and road works, and the hustle and bustle of too many people trying to go about their business in too little space… and just across from where they were was parked a large limousine, with a young man dressed in smart casual clothing standing patiently at the passenger door but on the _traffic_ side, out in the road, leaning against the immaculate black paintwork seemingly without a care, and seemingly _oblivious_ to the slow moving stream of automobiles and cycles that crept in a constant crawl past his position and probably _far_ too close to his handmade leather clad toes.

Sam stared at him. And knew the young man was staring across at… not at _them_ , but at his brother. He was waiting for _Dean_. And… he looked vaguely familiar… but then…somehow _not_ …

“Who is that? Who is it, Dean?” He turned to his brother, but the older man was already delving into his pocket for the keys to the Impala.

“It’s Toby Emerson, Sam. Drayton’s son. I gotta go.” And he was handing over the keys to the younger man. “What month are we in…?” He checked the date on his cell as he spoke, “Shit, it must be this birthday weekend thing that he was on about last time… twentyith?”

“Twenty first, actually.” And a large mountain of a man in a smart, perfectly fitted black suit was now standing beside them both with a small sparkling pink gift bag in his hand, and was handing it casually to Sam. “And the young master’s name is Tobias: you would probably do well to remember that, sir. We’re on our way to the family retreat for a party with a select few of his peers: swimming pool, built-in home movie theatre, hot tub, playroom full of… ‘toys’…all ready and waiting. It’s _very_ exclusive. Apparently, he has his father’s tastes, sir. When you’re ready?”

It wasn’t a question.

“ _No._ ” The word was shouted with such an an explosion of mental pain that caused even the New Yorkers around them to pause and look.

“Sam…”

“ _No!_ I won’t allow this. I won’t accept… _this!_ ” And the younger of the Winchesters was hurling the bag with all his strength to the concrete at his feet.

Dean sighed and bit his lip. “It’s been offered, Sam. You can stamp on whatever it is: you can grind it to bits beneath your heel. Just like you have done _before_. But it’s been _offered_ …

And if you try to _physically_ stop this,” he was already shifting his own body to block the younger brother as he went to assault the human mountain, “… then _everything_ will be declared void, and I’ll be taken _away_ from you.

You can’t _stop_ this, Sam. It’s _done_.”

“There must be _some_ way!” Sam’s eyes were now full of tears, and passer’s by were looking at him curiously. He didn’t care. He would _never_ care about anyone else except the older man that he was standing beside, and who was now looking back at him with such sadness. “There has to be. There _has_ to.”

“There isn’t, Sam. You’ve tried.” And Dean was bending down at his brother’s feet to retrieve the pink gift bag. He didn’t bother glancing inside to see if there was any damage done to the contents: instead he handed it to the younger man, physically reaching for his hand and making him take it. “You might as well keep it: they give some incredible things that we’d otherwise never have had. Believe it or not, they’ve saved _both_ our lives these last few months…”

Then he was sighing at the lack of response. “Sam. Just take it. You don’t have a choice.”

The younger man remained silent, his cheeks now getting wet as his eyes overflowed. Dean moved to wipe them away, but changed his mind and stalled his hand in mid-air before instead turning back to the large muscled henchman. “Did you say this was a… ‘party’?”

“For the young master and his friends, yes.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully: “I’ll certainly never forget his _father’s_ ‘tastes’. _And_ his,” he indicated the young man still waiting beside the long stretched vehicle: his eyes still fixed on the slave with such a cold smile on his face that made Sam shiver despite himself, “from his sixteenth birthday: yeah… he certainly was _determined_ to learn as much as possible _that_ night… _And_ I killed his old man, so I’m sure _that’s_ going to be mentioned in the next couple of days…

So,” he turned back to his now ashen faced brother. “I think… I _think_ I better ask them to drop me at Bobby’s after, Sam. You take my Baby and go on to Norfolk, and I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?

 _Okay?_ ”

Sam nodded numbly, unable to trust his voice at all now as he watched his brother turn and walk away with the bodyguard, the traffic seeming to halt for them without a single hand gesture of disagreement as they crossed over to the limousine. Tobias Emerson smirked at Dean and motioned for him to get in to the vehicle, the slave obeying immediately without a backward glance. The two others followed instantly: the birthday boy getting into the rear with Dean, and his colossus of a henchman closing the door behind them before making his way round to the driver’s seat.

And then the limousine was moving out into the busy traffic… and disappearing from Sam’s view.

He swallowed. Wiped his tears on his sleeve as if in a trance. Looked down at the gift bag as if in a trance. Walked back to the Impala as if in a trance. Returned to their cheap motel as if in a trance. Packed up their bags as if in a trance.

Drove away from New York as if in a trance.

But it wasn’t until he saw the fence that surrounded Bobby’s yard that Sam realised where he had driven _to_.

He had gone home.

 


	12. Back at Bobby's

The old man was waiting for him at his front steps, having heard the approaching roar of the Impala. “I didn’t expect you boys…” But then he was taking in Sam’s almost blank expression and lack of companion… “You’d have _called_ if he were dead… you’d have done that first thing… you _wouldn’t_ have kept that from me… So… he’s paying a deal…”

“With Tobias Emerson…”

“ _Emerson?_ _Wasn’t that…?!?”_

“ _Drayton_ Emerson’s son.”

Bobby stared at him, his face now almost as drained of colour as the young man’s. “ _Balls._ ”

Dean had been picked up on the Thursday to be taken as the… ‘entertainment’… for a weekend party somewhere.  Once he had taken a deep breath and calmed down, Bobby surmised that it was unlikely that he be returned until the Tuesday at least: “unless he needs to ‘rest up’ a while: depends on how bad it is this time…”

“This time?” Sam didn’t really want to ask, but he had to. He had to _know_.

The old man paused, and considered his response carefully: “They’ve been... extremely _happy_ … since you gave Dean back to them, Sam. Those bastards have hardly left him alone.

And _your_ response? You were angry about being _tricked!_ You swore revenge at _all_ costs. But as to how _hurt_ he was getting…?

It was only then that I realised what he’d been trying to tell me since that first time he saw you after hell! That you… weren’t _you_.” Bobby sighed, a deep, heartfelt sigh. “I just _wish_ that I’d told him immediately about your return... Stopped you before you managed to…

Anyway. It _wasn’t_ you, Sam. I _get_ that: I really do. Don’t you worry about that, I know how I’ve been acting…

Because it wasn’t _you_ who came back from hell. I _know_ that.

I’m _sorry_ for how I’ve behaved, boy.”

Sam stared at him, tears once more running down his face. “ _I’m_ sorry for how I’ve behaved these last few years full _stop_ , Bobby. No wonder you believed the worst of me…”

There was a long silence.

Eventually the young man broke it: “How am I going to _fix_ this, Bobby? How do I put this _right?”_

The old man shrugged helplessly. “Danged if _I_ know, boy. But… no matter what… we’re never going to stop trying…

But in the meantime… you might as well tell me what you’ve got on this case….”

It was a long few days, waiting for information. Neither wanted to make the long drive back to Norfolk on the east coast, not without knowing where Dean was or whether he was alright. But at least they dismantled and studied the latest hex bag that Dean had hastily shoved into Sam’s hand along with the car keys, and concluded that it had been created by the same hand as the others, with similar, and very _unusual_ , ingredients inside.

“Yeah, I’m as sure as I can be, Sam.” Bobby had spent most of the time searching through all his books. “The power of _this_ magic, to do such… really horrific things? This is something really _paramount_ , Sam. This ain’t no initiate: this is a fully seasoned witch… and that takes years. I mean… _years_.

And if some of the accounts in these records are correct: I’m talking _hundreds_ of years. They can live that old! With hundreds of years of _practice_ to perfect their spells. This is something really… let’s put it this way, Sam: this ain’t no bullied little girl from High School!”

“So…” The young man stared at him, “it might _not_ be Anna Parkhouse?”

“I’m just saying… she might be just an unwitting _catalyst_ …”

They were interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. For a moment, they both stared at each other: neither had heard any sound of an approaching engine, or footsteps, or… _anything_. And that shook both the Hunter’s more than the actual sound of the knock had. Eventually Bobby pushed his chair back and went to answer it, snatching up his shotgun on the way and motioning for Sam to also have his gun ready, just in case.

Carefully, the old man opened the door.

Then he was stepping back in a hurry as the large muscled bodyguard, still in his expensive suit and seemingly without a sweat, simply pushed his way in past him, with an unconscious and somewhat blood-encrusted Dean flung casually and limply across his shoulders in a far too easy fireman’s lift. “Where would you like him?”

Bobby glanced through the front door even as he was turning to follow and saw a really smart Audi 8 now sitting in front of the house: “What did that thing do, _fly_ here?”

The henchman actually chuckled even as, having had a glance around, he was moving through into the book covered study… sitting room… messy area, and lowering his charge easily, but with seemingly genuine care, onto the couch with Sam standing right next to him, rubbing his large hands through his long locks anxiously, desperate to get to his brother’s side.

“What have you done to him? Is he hurt? Why is he like this?”

“Relax.” The heavily muscled man seemed amused, even as he produced Dean’s FBI jacket from where it had been tucked beneath his arm, and handed it to Bobby. Along with the slave’s gun that he had had in his pocket. “He’s just out cold from the drugs, that’s all. He really _does_ have a fear of flying! Not _surprising_ after that crash. He’ll be fine in a few hours. Well… not _fine_ : those boys certainly enjoyed their play! He probably won’t be able to walk for a couple of days… or sit down comfortably… or do much!”

“That brat better not have marked him.”

And the _three_ of them were turning in surprise.

To realise with some shock that there were now _other_ men standing behind them in the room… in Bobby’s _house_ … that they hadn’t heard enter. A _lot_ of other men.

Three of them would be classed as more ‘mature’, and seemed to be of definite professional standing: each exuded an absolute certainty of accustomed power and right… and were all giving off the aura of being used to being in control. They were dressed similarly in expensive-looking fitted suits of various shades of grey, each wore the bare minimum of jewellery, but what there _was_ showed expensive and exquisite tastes: Rolex and Louis Moinet watches, single-gemmed platinum tie pins, two of the men were wearing plain wedding bands – one gold, one platinum - and all _three_ wore the distinctive signet rings of the AE.

The one that had just spoken was grey-haired, tall, slim, and commanding in presence: both of the others were shorter, yet just as authoritative, with the one on the right still having a full head of neatly trimmed dark brown hair, while the other was just beginning to have distinguished streaks of grey glinting through.

But Sam and Bobby’s attention had been more immediately drawn to the _other_ men who had no right to be in that room. _They_ all gave the impression of being ex-military, or at least to their standard of extremely fit and muscled: dressed all the same in a uniform of black combats and steel-toed black boots… and each was armed with a Beretta assault rifle… of which, every single one, was trained directly on _them_.

Bobby cussed under his breath: he had locked the front door, hadn’t he? Although… on taking a second look at the armed men… it wouldn’t have mattered if it _had_ been once _they’d_ decided they were going to come in!

“I _said_ : that brat better not have _marked_ him, Demetrius. If there’s anything been done permanently, or if our Dean’s not up to attending our upcoming little get together, then…”

“No sir, no… The mistress told me to watch what the young master was doing, sir. She doesn’t want _trouble,_ sir…”

Both Bobby and Sam were now staring at the other man incredulously because of how abruptly his demeanour had changed: just the previous moment he had been a massive, imposing, physical presence of strength and malice in the room. But now the muscled man was cowering, trying to make himself small and insignificant, and replying with such a rush of words all at once that the two Hunter’s knew without question that he was terrified.

And, by implication, that meant that each of these men who had just walked into Bobby’s house as if they owned it, were someone to be terrified _of_.

But the one was speaking again: “That’s good, Demetrius. That’s good to hear. We wouldn’t tolerate our _boy_ being hurt, not now we’ve had him returned after so long. _None_ of us would.”

“No sir, I know, sir.” And Demetrius was backing away from the couch, shrinking into the corner of the room as if he would disappear into the very wall if only he could, leaving Sam still kneeling beside his unconscious brother on the couch, clinging to Dean’s hand as if with a death grip, and Bobby standing helplessly beside them both.

Then the smartly dressed man on the left, whose temples were just beginning to grey, was stepping forward with authority: “Out of the way please, Samuel. Let me see.”

“What! _No!_ ”

“I’m a doctor! Now _get out of my way!”_

Sam shared an anxious glance with Bobby: he didn’t want to move… but given that they had four large weapons trained on them, it didn’t seem sensible _not_ to. And there was something about the way the man had commanded…

Something about _all_ of them.

He moved to the end of the couch, walking on his knees so he could still keep a grasp on his brother’s left hand in between both of his own. “Please don’t hurt him: he hasn’t deserved _any_ of this…”

The man, who was already kneeling beside Dean, paused and looked over at Sam with… genuine kindness and concern in his blue eyes: “We would _never_ hurt Dean, Samuel. He’s _ours_. He always _has_ been. _Despite_ what certain royal family members and the _Emerson’s_ may think…

Now, let’s get him examined.” Then the smiling demeanour had changed within an instant and the eyes were no longer kind: “If those boys have _hurt_ him…”

And with that, the doctor was unbuttoning Dean’s definitely unusable-ever-again shirt and starting to remove it. Sam assisted despite himself, helping to support his unconscious brother while the limp arms were slid out of the sleeves, and the ‘doctor’… who definitely knew what he was doing… could see what, if any, damage there was on the flesh beneath.

And there was a _lot_ of damage.

The doctor tsked as he examined Dean, probing deep bruises, and numerous burns… both cigar and cigarette butt shaped ones and numerous ones from something else…and countless new bite marks… and a back full of raised vicious whip welts… and other discolorations all over him that looked like brutal versions of hickeys… or made by fists… and still more wounds from other things momentarily beyond the anxiously watching younger brother’s imagination that he certainly did _not_ want to think about… with a surprising amount of care and gentleness, using his slim, elegant, definitely _surgically_ trained fingers: “Demetrius? What caused these burns?”

The large man fidgeted in his corner, twisting his hands together nervously. “It turns out that… Master Tobias has… _different_ tastes to his father, sir. He used a riding crop immediately upon arrival to beat the slave as punishment for the death of Mr Emerson, sir, but then forgave him the next instant because at least he’d got to have his inheritance far sooner than expected. I don’t think they’ve gone _too_ deep, sir. I took the chance to check: they should heal fairly quickly…”

“I asked about the _burns_ , Demetrius.” Now the man’s voice was as cold as his eyes.

“Oh…erm… yes, sir.” And the man was shying away even further into himself, his head down as if terrified to even meet the doctor’s steely gaze. “Master Tobias had had several… bondage items made specifically for the weekend. And a saddle. Turns out he has quite the fetish! It could all be attached to the slave’s...”

“His name’s _Dean_ , damn you!”

The explosion of pure rage came once more from the first man. Neither Sam and Bobby managed to contain themselves from flinching at the fury and disgust in the voice, and Demetrius all but pissed himself where he stood. He hurried to correct himself.

“The items he brought had lots of straps… harnesses… they held the… _Dean…_ completely immobile… for really long periods at a time.  They attached to his wrist bands, and the collar of course, and a separate head piece that also held his… Dean’s… mouth… immobile. And open. Some of the…erm… boys discovered that if they heated the metal pieces with their lighters, or slipped lit cigarettes beneath the straps, then…”

“Then he couldn’t get away from them. Mm, ingenious.” The doctor was nodding: his expression unreadable. “Fetch me a sheet or something, Mr Singer: there’s a good fellow.” Bobby stared but moved to obey, staring down the nearest armed bodyguard defiantly as he stepped aside to let the older man leave the room.

“Demetrius? Before you return to Mrs Emerson, make sure you give one of my men all the names of the participants at this ‘party’.” The man nodded over-vigorously as one of the armed men produced a notepad and pen for him and hurried to obey, desperate to take the chance to escape both the house _and_ the keen gaze of the three men. “Ah, thank you, Mr Singer.” As the other returned with a clean sheet and a couple of blankets.

And the greying-haired man, with the now _cold_ , cold eyes, was taking the sheet from Bobby to use as a cover while he finished examining the rest of Dean. “Hmph. More bite marks and bruises.  And he‘s been ripped badly. _Really_ badly. Fucking little idiots!”

“Will he be alright, Dominic? Will he be able to be the guest of honour at our ‘event’ next month? Or would it be worth postponing?” The other two were leaning forward from where they stood: a strange mixture of cold anger and concern on both on their faces.

The doctor considered: “Well, the way he’s breathing it would seem like he’s got a couple of fractured ribs. Definitely lots of deep bruises.  All these _burns…_

The back’s the worst. The wounds inflicted clearly aren’t up to his father’s standard: Drayton _certainly_ had a gift for inflicting maximum pain with minimum molestation, shame he didn’t get the chance to teach his son. But at least the boy used something that hasn’t marked too deeply: they should be healed in time enough for _our_ soiree as intended. Especially if your little angel decides to help again, Samuel…”

Sam stared at him incredulously: what had he just said?

“Angels and demons. You can’t have one without the other. And we know all about _both_. But… just a friendly warning, Samuel.

If I were you, I’d make sure I know _who’s_ side he’ _s_ _actually_ on…

But we’ll leave you to take care of your brother now.”

One of the guards passed the man a cloth to wipe his hands on as he stood back up and moved to join his colleagues. Then they were _all_ moving, heading unhurriedly in the direction of Bobby’s front door, and the collection of SUV’s and yet _more_ guards now gathered outside it. Bobby followed them hastily, determined to see that his door was shut behind them and locked and bolted securely this time.

And to try and eavesdrop if he could.

But as it turned out, there was no need.

The third, and shortest man, who so far was the only one that hadn’t previously spoken, paused in his stride: the other two also stopping immediately to listen. The orders issued were concise and deliberate, and delivered in an unpleasantly nasal voice: “Get on to the West Coast. And get me Ellington on the line immediately. I want the word passed around to _everyone_ … right away. No more deals to be held to account until _after_ our evening. _None_ , or there _will_ be consequences…

No exceptions.

And Roberts…?” One of the black-uniformed guards sprang instantly to attention… “Young Emerson is one of our own. Unfortunately. And possibly one or two other of these boys present this weekend as well. But… any of them that _aren’t_ …

If they’re not dead by the morning, then I will want to know _why_.”

Bobby inhaled deeply as they all drove away, and had to take a minute before returning to where Sam was now carefully tending to Dean’s wounds. He debated with himself as to whether or not to tell the young man what was going to happen to his brother’s tormentors, but… as he found yet more clean bandages for the slave’s numerous wounds, he realised that he didn’t care.

Not in the slightest.

They settled Dean carefully beneath the blankets when they had finished: “Why don’t you get some rest as well, Sam? Neither of us has slept much these last few days…”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t _look_ it, boy. Go’on upstairs and sleep. At least we’ve got him back safe: I’ll call you when he awakes.”

“I wanna be here, Bobby.”

“I know you do, boy. _I’ll_ call… Go’on now.”

Sam wanted to keep arguing, but… he couldn’t remember the last time he had done more than just doze, and it didn’t seem that Dean would be waking up any time soon. With a sigh, he headed up the stairs, determined to only sleep for an hour or so…

It was nearly five hours later and completely dark outside when he next opened his eyes. Sam stretched and yawned, and stumbled downstairs in his sleep-pants to see if Dean was awake yet. Then he was pausing outside the living room door at the murmur of voices came from inside…

There was Bobby’s voice: “Anything you need, boy?”

Followed by the deep, exhausted, and extremely croaky and _sore_ -sounding tone of his brother: “Pain-killers, sleep, and more pain-killers, Bobby.”

“Can I get you sommat to eat? Or anything at _all?_ ”

“Nah… Just…”

“What, boy?”

There was a sigh. Then Dean’s voice, when he spoke next, sounded… almost choked. On the verge of tears _._ “I don’t… I don’t think I can take this much more, Bobby. I almost wish Cas had just left me in Hell: it’s all gone so wrong…

Who was I kidding? Hoping that I was _ever_ good enough to be a Winchester…? Dad made it _clear_ I wasn’t… No wonder Sam always leaves…

I’m just a fucking slave…” he snorted despite himself. “Literally! That’s all I’ll _ever_ be… And a fucking _screw_ -up.

I just don’t think I _can_ any more… I’d rather be…”

“What, boy? What? And if you’re gonna say ‘dead’, then I’m dragging you straight to that panic room _now_ and chainin’ you down there!” Sam could hear the anger in Bobby’s voice: it was only _just_ overshadowing his grief.

“Bobby, I…”

“ _No_ , Dean! Now you listen to _me!_ You’re hurting, I get that! God knows, it makes me goddam sick, all the injuries you’ve been getting, and I know I don’t know the half of what you go through… and I don’t damn well _want_ to… but we’re gonna _sort_ this! There’s got to be a way! We’ll get that goddam chip out of you, and we’ll get you away from these bastards, but you ain’t gonna be _dead_ this time, because _I_ couldn’t take _that!!”_

There was a long silence in the room. Sam held his breath just outside the door: he wanted to go in and start yelling at Dean but… this was between _them_ at the moment…

“Bobby… Look…”

“I lost you once, boy. That was enough. Now, no more talk about it…”

There was a murmur. Sam hoped it was agreement, because if it wasn’t, then _he_ would be dragging his brother down to the panic room! But at least Bobby sounded happier when he next spoke. “So. Back to my question! Can I get’cha anything?”

Another mumble, this time with a negative pitch. Then Sam could hear the old man getting up from his seat. “For what it’s worth, Dean. This whole situation. That’s our fault: mine and Sam’s. We should have cut that damn thing out of you first thing… _First_ thing!

But who or whatever brought him back without a soul? Well, that was downright _evil_. Something really _hates_ you, boy… _must_ do, to bring your brother back like that! It must have _known_ what Sam would immediately do…

And we’re going to find _what_ ever or _who_ ever it was, and we’re going to _destroy_ the _bastard thing_!”

Bobby’s voice had risen exponentially: not only because he was approaching the door where Sam was still eavesdropping, but also from sheer rage. And his words…?

Sam felt sick as he heard them.

Hastily he backed away from his hiding place, hoping to make it to the bottom of the stairs before Bobby came out of the room. But then he was stepping backwards and into…

Castiel.

Who was somehow standing behind him. When had _he_ got there?

“Cas? You okay?”

Because the angel was looking… _stunned_. Really upset. Completely _devastated_.

Could it be because _he_ had heard Bobby’s words as well?”

“Well, wat’cha doing standing out _there?”_ Bobby had heard them and come straight out into the hall. “Dean needs ya. He’s been hurt again! Get in there and help him!” And he was all but pushing Castiel into the room where Dean was trying to stand up, frantically snatching at the blankets as he realised the state of complete undress he was still in.

“Cas! You don’t have to… I mean… I always seem to be having to ask…” He was embarrassed, his head going down, ashamed to look at his friend now that Castiel knew what he was…

“I will _always_ help you, Dean.” And the angel was stepping forwards without hesitation to press his hand against the slave’s naked chest… his _whole_ hand… and his fingers were beginning to glow…

…and Sam just wanted to rush in and pull him away, even as his brother’s numerous injuries once more began to knit together and heal, vanishing into the once more unblemished skin as if they had never existed.

Because Dean had forced himself to look up. And Castiel was there right in his personal space, bright blue eyes staring into the green: faces only inches apart…

Yet _again_.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean mumbled the words and, to Sam’s relief, took a step back and looked around. “Would there be any clothes… or _anything?_ ”

“Here. I had some ready for you.” And Bobby was handing over a couple of shirts and some comfy loose-fitting jogging bottoms. Dean grabbed for those first to hastily pull on beneath the cover of his sheet even as the conversation went on around him.

Sam had been thinking: “Couldn’t _you_ get us the money to pay my debt off, Castiel? Save Dean having to pay it?”

The angel put his head on one side and stared at him: “How much would it be?”

“I…“ But there the young man was stumped. “How much _is_ it, Dean?”

The slave glanced up to find that all eyes were once more on _him_. But at least by now he had his _pants_ on! He straightened up where he stood, still bare-chested and bare-footed, and shrugged. “That’s the one thing that’s _never_ mentioned! The actual _figure!_ And I’m guessing it never _will_ be…”

“I don’t understand.” Castiel had found himself distracted by his friend’s naked firm torso, but now forced his attention back up to Dean’s face. “How can it not be…?”

Sam had also had to physically restrain himself from staring at his brother’s chest. It wasn’t often that he got to look at it: usually the only time he saw Dean like that, it was when he had yet again been battered by or torn-up by something, and needed Sam to help him medically. He swallowed down the rush of moisture that had filled his mouth but couldn’t restrain the bitterness that now entered his voice: “He means, the amount’s still going _up!_ The original debt, plus probably lots of others that I’ve made without knowing, plus interest…”

The angel looked at him nonplussed: “But Dean has been paying the deals _off_. Isn’t that what this is all about, and why he has been getting hurt? Because they use him as a… a… _commodity?_ ” There was definite anger in his voice when he uttered _that_ word.

Sam sighed and reddened in the face, both from embarrassment _and_ sudden self-hatred. “But I’ve been making new ones! _God_ knows how many, because I _don’t!_ And with the wording on this fucking contract…” He had to break off from speaking: he had sat and gone over and _over_ the contract since he had realised what it was, and with every new reading he had seen yet more technicalities… and not _one_ of them was in _his_ favour…

“With the wording on the contract, this can go on indefinitely, Cas. Always adding onto the total if they don’t want the deals paid immediately. Unless _they_ give a final figure for the debt to be paid… ie, if one of _them_ want to pay it off, lien and _all_ … then… well… there’s _always_ gonna be ‘one more deal’ still to be paid, and on it goes…” Dean apparently had also realised: Sam couldn’t help but use his eyes to plead for forgiveness once _again_ from his brother. “And we don’t even know the starting point. You could clear Fort Knox of every last piece of gold, but they’ll say that it’s not enough…

It’ll _never_ be enough…

They don’t _want_ it to be enough.”

There was a pause of momentary silence in the room.

Bobby’s thoughts had been following a rather _different_ line: “Can we _get_ these bastards then? If they’re all together at this… meeting… in a few weeks, can _you_ be there as well, Cas? 

The old man drew himself up and stood as tall as he could: his repressed hatred of the situation showing through with every venom-spat word. “Can you kill the _lot_ of them, once and for all?”

But this time to his disbelief, there was no pause at all.

 “I… hope to have… something… to have happened in a few weeks, Bobby. I will not be able to… much as I would _like_ to…

Castiel was looking more than apologetic, he was looking… slightly apprehensive. And his eyes were fixed on Dean as he continued: “What I am doing is _important…_ _please_ understand that…”

“What the _Hell_ could be more important to you than _Dean!?_ ” Both Sam _and_ the angel were flinching at the fury in Bobby’s face as he suddenly was all but _screaming_ at Castiel. “He’s your _friend_ , goddam it! Everything you goddamned things have put him through in the last few years: all the pressure of the world literally put on his shoulders because you and yours have wanted your goddamned _war_ , and you can’t even…! He needs your _help!”_

Castiel actually had the grace to look shame-faced, but Dean was already speaking up for his friend: “It’s okay, Bobby. That’s a big ask, to expect him to…

Even for a soldier like _Cas_ , to just walk in and _kill_ everyone…?  That’s too much, Bobby.

And…” Dean was looking at his bare toes suddenly, reluctant to continue speaking. Just in case he was asked to _explain_. “… I mean… with their ever increasing number of… erm… ‘acquaintances’… it might not even be possible… I mean… you just don’t understand…

They have… allies. It would be far more dangerous than you _realise_ , Bobby. For Cas, I mean…

They’re prepared, Bobby.

For _everything_.

You just don’t know what you’re asking him to do…”

“Well then, it’s a good job that he _won’t!”_ And Bobby was storming out of the room, trying to fight down the urge to kill something with extreme prejudice… particularly something that looked human but goddam _wasn’t_ , and wore a goddam _trench_ coat, and looked dorky, and… had been thought of as a friend…

Then with the next breath, he was returning back in to where Dean was still miserably standing, because the boy needed help, and as usual, the _only_ ones it would seem could be relied on, was _Family_ with a capital F!

“Well? What’cha still here for? You better get on with your… whatever’s so much more _important!_ ”

“Bobby…” Dean was pleading. He began to step forward to try and soothe his surrogate uncle… but Castiel was also moving forward at the same time, meeting his friend in the same small area of space as they unintentionally came together as one, and spontaneously catching each side of the other’s still uncovered waist in his hands.

“Thank you for understanding, Dean. If I can, then I _will_ come to help you: I _hate_ what your brother has caused to happen…

But, what I _can_ do, is remove that microchip in your spine. If you would like me to…”

Sam recovered from his irritation at both the words, _and_ the fact that the angel had somehow near enough got his arms around his brother, to exclaim: “Yes! If you can do that, then… that will help _somehow_. _Surely_ it’ll help somehow?”

This latter was addressed to Dean, who nodded almost shyly. “They’ve got such a hold _now_ that… but… I… It would be _amazing_ to… for it not to be there… If you _could_ , Cas. But… be careful… “

“Of course I can, Dean.” And the angel was smiling at him, grateful that he could actually do something that might help his friend feel even a _little_ better. “Rest on the couch on your front, so I can ascertain where it is…”

Dean glanced across at Sam and flushed slightly even as he was obeying, settling himself on the couch and leaning away from Castiel, who had also moved to sit beside him, so that the angel could examine his now unmarked and muscled back.

The younger man understood. _He_ knew that _Dean_ knew about his innate jealously of Castiel, and deliberately allowing the angel to get so close…almost _intimately_ close… no matter _how_ incredible the reason or chance of at least removing that accursed little object…? Even above the chance of _that_ , Dean was most worried about _him_ and how _he_ might feel…

Sam’s heart swelled with unadulterated love. And even before Castiel had managed to press so much as a fingertip against Dean’s skin, he had moved to kneel down on the floor at the end of the small sofa, just as he had the previous day, and was reaching to take hold of his brother’s hands, his voice deliberately soft: “Here, hold on to me. Just in case it hurts.”

Dean glanced up and met his eyes: the blush increased enough to cover the top half of his body, but he smiled straight at Sam and nodded, even as he was reaching his own hands out over the edge of the soft-cushioned arm-rest in return. The young man clasped them in his own, entwining their fingers and holding on tightly: he would _always_ hold Dean tightly. And it didn’t hurt that Castiel would see and recognise that…

“I can see where it is.” Despite himself, Bobby also moved closer to see where the angel was indicating. “It is like one of those cards that you put into that cell phone you gave me, only a third of the size. And it is only just above where this… _mark_ …” the tone of his voice gave away his disgust once more at the brand as his hand ran over the raised, permanent welt  “…was inflicted on you. I wish that I could remove _that_.”

“They’d only burn it in again, Cas. Just leave it.”

The angel made a noise that sounded like a ‘hmph’, but then he was continuing: “It does seem to be a _very_ permanent mark, somehow… I do not understand…”

“Just _leave_ it, Cas.”

Sam glanced at his brother sharply in surprise: why did he sound so _worried?_ But then… it must have hurt so much when it had been put on. It must have been _agony_. And, until they could figure out how to get Dean away from the AE for once and for all, then, even if Castiel could remove it, there would still be a chance, a _strong_ one, that the slave might have to undergo having it done to him a _second_ time…

So, of _course_ Dean was worried about it…

He decided to bring the subject back to what was _most_ important: “Do you think you can get the chip out?”

“It is situated here,” Castiel’s finger pressed lightly into the man’s skin, “slightly beneath and to the left of Dean’s spine, roughly one inch above where their mark is. But it is deeply implanted, and almost hidden behind the vertebrae. Even a surgeon would have to be careful not to cut into the spine itself if they tried to get it. I can see why he asked for it to be removed only after his death.”

Sam fought down his immediate guilt, then met Dean’s eyes again as his brother’s hands tightened in his own in a way that made him look into his face. The green irises stared into his without any reproach at all, and Sam so wanted to kiss him _right_ now…

But Cas was continuing his summarizing: “I am going to use my grace to pull the chip up to the surface of your skin. Your brother is correct: it might well be painful. It will certainly feel… _unpleasant_. Ready?”

Sam was still staring into his brother’s eyes, ordering him silently not to _ever_ look away: to just keep his focus on _him_. Dean nodded imperceptively and braced himself: “Go for it!”

“I am beginning… now.”

What happened next… all suddenly happened at once:

Castiel’s fingers began to glow as he applied his grace to Dean’s back.

And Dean’s back, where the grace was being applied, suddenly sparked flame-red instead. A _vivid_ red that ignited, then spread _like_ a flame throughout his skin at tremendous speed to create a rough circular-shaped sigil upon his back.

Then Dean was screaming as the flame burnt through _him_.

And Castiel was being hurled physically from the couch, from the room, from the _house_ , as the angel banishing sigil was magically constructed out of Dean’s own physical flesh and blood, and sent him to wherever angels end up when they get banished!

Sam and Bobby recovered themselves from where they had instinctively tried to shield themselves from the sudden heat, and stared with _horror_ at the scene…

Because Dean once more lay unconscious on the couch: the vividly glowing remnants of the sigil that had somehow been carved by a powerful spell right into his body still glaringly obvious, and made even _more_ so by the smoke now rising from it, accompanied by the increasing stench of burnt human flesh.

And as for the angel…? There was no sign of him at _all_.

“Fuck.” It was rare for Bobby to use that word , but… “ _Fuck!”_

Sam was too dazed to comment: shakily he struggled back up to his knees and reached for his brother. “Dean?”

Then he was flinching and jerking his hand away as the heat emanating from the dying embers of the spell was _still_ enough to burn. For just one unique moment, Sam found himself hesitant about what to do… but then Dean was starting to move his limbs, and groaning with pain, and trying to lift himself up off the couch, and the younger man was in motion before he had even realised: pulling his brother bodily down off the seat and into his arms, uncaring now about the stinging pain in his fingers as they brushed across the remains of the sigil as it finally floundered and died back beneath the skin as if it had never existed. “Dean? You okay?”

The other blinked groggily and remained silent for a long moment. But at least the agonising pain that had so suddenly encased his entire spine was easing as quickly as it had begun and eventually he was able to respond; his usually deep voice barely a croak. “Yeah. Yep. What the hell just _happened?_ Where’s Cas?”

And he was trying to twist himself around in Sam’s arms to see… but the younger man wasn’t letting go. On the contrary, he tightened his arms even more, sitting as he was on Bobby’s floor with his legs spread wide, holding Dean between them tightly against his own body so his head could rest against Sam’s chest… and his brother, after a glance up at him, nodded and settled there without argument. “He’s gone, hasn’t he?” 

The other two men exchanged a glance. ”That’s why you were so worried? You knew…?”

“I didn’t… _know_ … but…” And Dean began to sit up and turn where he was, still in Sam’s arms, to lean carefully with his back now against the younger man’s chest: wincing a little as his still slightly sore, bare skin connected with his brother’s plaid shirts. He looked really embarrassed: “These last few months I… would often come around after to find that… there would be…”

He paused and took a moment before trying again… “Like I said. They have connections. Non- _human_ connections…”

He closed his eyes as just one of the memories flickered through his mind: of blearily lifting up his pounding head, hazily seeing a black suit, a much-loathed sneer and hearing a British accent:  ‘I would keep Feathers _away_ from this if _I_ were you, love… now… I think the price agreed was for a whole _night_ …’

“And they _know_ things,” he eventually continued. “They _always_ know where I am. Not like they used to. I could never outrun them for _very_ long before but _now_ …

Well, _you_ saw!” This was addressed to Sam, Dean having to almost twist his neck around to look up at his brother because Sam just _wasn’t_ going to let him go now the other was in his arms where he belonged.  “They were right outside that fucking building that we’d only _been_ in an hour. They’re there now every time I fucking turn _around!_

I even contacted Agent _Ford!_ Asked him to check that I haven’t got a transmitting tracker in me somewhere, but he couldn’t find one… not a _man_ -made one _anyway..._

They’re _making_ it so I give up and just go to them. Permanently. That’s what they _want._ ”

The younger man somehow tightened his arms around him even more, surreptitiously nuzzling his brother’s neck on the side that his lips would be hidden from Bobby’s view: “But you _wouldn’t_ ever? _Would_ you, Dean?”

But to Sam’s dismay, Dean wriggled his way out of the embrace and struggled to his feet without responding. Then he was reaching to pick up the shirt that Bobby had previously handed him and heading to the door: “I gotta grab a shower…”

“Dean?” By this time, Sam was also on his feet. “You _wouldn’t_ , would you…?”

But the door was closed behind the older man without a response being given.

By the time Sam had got his emotions under enough control to follow, Dean was already washed and back out of the bathroom again, although he didn’t come back down the stairs. The younger man eventually followed and found him crashed out beneath the covers in Bobby’s spare bedroom: days’ worth of exhaustion to try and recover from.

With a sigh Sam backed out of the room again as quietly as he had entered, closing the door gently to let his brother sleep. Only then did he realise that the old man was also standing at the top of the stairs, watching him: “He’s right, you know.”

“What?” Sam stared across the landing, still trying to resist the urge to simply return into the room and also climb into the bed to hold his older brother tightly and never let him go, no matter what.

“Dean. He’s _right!_ They’re pushing him more and more. _Deliberately!_ What’cha think _that_ was today? They just walked straight into my _house!_ They’re trying to force him into giving in: they’re trying to use _us_ to get him to the point where he _cracks_...”

He paused: “And it’s _working_ , Sam. Especially after that little stunt today with Castiel!”

“He won’t.” Sam was certain. “This is _Dean_. He’ll keep fighting them, no matter what. He belongs with me… _us._ We’ll find a way to stop this. _He’ll_ find a way to stop this.

He _has_ to.”

Bobby nodded, but he didn’t look convinced: “I just hope you’re right, Sam. But he’s been through so much already… I know you _both_ have, but this…

This has been going on almost all his _life_.

I just hope, after _everything_ , that this isn’t what finally causes him to break…”

Dean slept right through to the next day, with Sam standing… or rather, sitting in the chair in the corner of the bedroom… guard over him. He had heard Bobby check the numerous locks and bolts on both the front and back doors numerous times before retiring to bed… and he had heard him check his shotgun at least twice.

 _And_ he heard the familiar click of a revolver. Bobby didn’t usually carry a revolver.

And, for once, Sam didn’t think that _either_ would be loaded with plain old rock salt…

He was awakened from his unintentional drowse by bright, strong sunshine shining straight into his face through the only half-closed drapes. It took a _large_ yawn and a _wide_ stretch to make him open his eyes fully, wincing at the soreness of his neck due to being sat slumped in the chair all night. But his first instinct was to check on his brother.

The bed was empty.

Sam was up off the chair instantly to check all the obvious places: the bathroom; the messy, book-covered living room; the kitchen. There was no sign of Dean. Not anywhere in the house.

Desperately the younger Winchester brother ran outside, racing around the yard, frantically looking for any sign of the older one…

… and came to a relieved halt as he rounded the sharp-edged but sexy chromed bumper of the Impala and found Dean fully dressed and kneeling quietly on the ground in the dirt beside the driver’s door: a less than half-full bottle of whisky in his hand, and staring at nothing in particular.

Sam didn’t even say anything. He just flung himself down beside his brother and wrapped his arms around him in a tight heartfelt hug: “I thought you’d…!”

“What?” Dean’s voice was calm. To Sam’s ears, it sounded _too_ calm.

“I thought they’d _taken_ you again. I… the way… the way they just came in here. Bobby’s really rattled...”

Dean regarded the tight grasp that was literally wrapped around both his arms and chest, and raised one of his eyebrows: “And you’re _not?_ ”

“Yes.” Sam acknowledged. “Yes, I am. What with what happened with _Cas_ and…“ His words faltered, but his grip around his brother _never_ would. “What do we do, Dean? How do we stop this? And don’t say that I should sell you back, cos you’re _going_ to: I _know_ you.” He was determined, even as he saw the other open his mouth to suggest it. “That’s the only thing that is _not_ an option. It _never_ will be.”

“We ran out of options a few months back, Sam.” Dean took another swig from the bottle. “No point in kidding myself… Ain’t no way to stop this except by dying, and I ain’t even sure _that_ would any more…

God knows what else they’ve been carving into me besides a banishing spell.”

Sam released his hold long enough to grab for the bottle and take a long draft himself, wincing at the taste of the strong liquor first thing in the morning… well, nearly midday. He wished he didn’t _want_ to drink first thing… but he so _did._ “That’s the only _other_ thing that’s not an option. But we’re going to find a way, Dean. We’ve beaten everything so far: we can beat these as well.”

“Well, whatever it is…” Dean replied pensively: “It’s gotta be _permanent_. _So_ permanent that they don’t even _bother_ looking…”

Sam’s brows drew together in a frown at the _way_ his brother had just spoken, and he waited… but the older man had fallen silent again and was back to staring at the small patch of ground just across the yard from them where the sun’s rays were falling brightly onto, apparently lost deep within his own thoughts once more.

Eventually the young man gave up and broke the quiet: “How are you feeling? You up to getting out of here? Or we can stay for a while? It’s up to you: whatever you want. But we’ve still got to investigate Anna Parkhouse down in Norfolk….

Dean took the bottle back and held it tightly against his chest: “Might as well get on then. You go’on inside and get packed up, Sammy. I’ll be there in a minute.”

The younger man studied him for a moment. The older man had hardly turned his head or met his brother’s eyes since he had got there… but eventually he simply nodded and got to his feet. But he had to say out loud the only thing on his mind that _really_ mattered… “We’re both worried, Dean. _And_ rattled. Me _and_ Bobby. But one thing’s for _certain… neither_ of us is going to let you be forced to go _anywhere_ that you don’t want to. You can _count_ on that, big brother.

I _mean_ it.

You will _always_ be able to count on me from now on.”

Dean nodded but didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up. Sam sighed and turned to head back into the house.

Behind him, the slave took one last slurp of the now quarter-full bottle of whisky and stared morosely at what he had been staring at ever since he had come outside. Hell, what he had found himself watching for the last few _months!_

He had found it unnerving the first time…the first _few_ times… that he had realised that he could still see… little people. Elves, or pixies, or gnomes: Dean wasn’t sure what the difference was, and he didn’t really care.

But since he had been abducted by the fucking fairies in that fucking stupid field and taken to their fucking _Realm_ … he had started to be able to see them.

And it hadn’t ended when they had sent the Leprechaun that had been behind the abductions back. In fact, as Dean had discovered through surreptitious research: anyone who had crossed to the realm even _once_ , willingly or otherwise, seemed to have the permanent ability that he now had…

He could see _little_ people.

_Everywhere!_

Even _here_ , in Bobby’s _yard!_

It had definitely seemed sensible _not_ to tell the soulless version of his brother about this new ‘gift’… if it could be called that.

And _Sammy?_ Well, _he_ would think that Dean was _insane_ if he began talking to something that was invisible to everybody else! Probably lock him away in an asylum!

But… there was something he _did_ need to ask… Or at least, it wouldn’t hurt to…

With a deep sigh, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and removed the old beaker that he had ‘borrowed’ from Bobby’s kitchen, and moved carefully across to where the tiny little beings were sitting and enjoying the rays of sunshine, confident that they were going unnoticed.

They watched with interest as the human used his short finger nails to scrape a small indent in the dirt beside them, just under the protective cover of an old, rusting, probably never-to-move-again vehicle, making it deep enough to push the beaker down into so it would be held tightly and, more importantly, _upright_.

But it wasn’t until Dean poured the remains of the strong drink into the vessel to make a little well of pure, intoxicating alcohol that they suddenly _realised_ …

Despite himself, the man grinned at the tiny squeaks of surprise and shock, and the expressions on their faces as the… yeah, elves; he thought probably they were elves… or pixies perhaps… but at least, not fucking _fairies!_... stared up at him with the stunned realisation that yes, he could actually _see_ them… indeed _he_ had been watching _them_ watching _him_ ... and was _offering_ them the drink that they had all been looking at with such _desire_ in their eyes…

And then they were all racing away on tiny bare feet with excited cries to their homes between the numerous stacks of cars, and just as speedily returning with tiny little beaker-like things formed from nut shells or the like, or _whatever…_ hell, Dean didn’t know _or_ care…  and containers of all sorts to fill with the precious amber liquid.

And the human knelt and quietly watched them. And as soon as they all had a… glass, shell, whatever… in their tiny little hands and were raising them to him in thanks, he whispered: “I was wondering… Could you just do something for me?

Things are happening around here that… are really _getting_ to Bobby. He’s the old man who lives here: the one who’s put all the cars around that you live in…“ Dean smiled at his own inane stupidity: “Although I guess that _he_ doesn’t know that! But he’s a good man…

The _best_.

Probably the only man I’ve _ever_ been able to fully trust.

And I was wondering if…please… if you’d mind just keeping an eye on him for me. Just watch over him? Keep him safe for me? If that’s possible? ‘Cos I couldn’t _bear_ it if anything happened to him. Especially not ‘cos of _me_ , and what’s going on…

Please, would you _do_ that for me?

And I’m gonna go and find a way to _end_ this…

Or end _me_ …

Whatever it takes for this to just all be _over_ …”


	13. Norfolk, Virginia - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. I have read all the comments and tried to take them on board, with the result that I ended up rewriting some parts of this… then not liking it and re-rewriting some more! 
> 
> And just to mention… I haven’t made up any of the references of abuse: I haven’t needed to. They are all actually based on real life events. This is what some of our children, in our so-called ‘civilised’ society, really have suffered through… and unfortunately some just can’t manage to deal with it and choose suicide instead… Please, please watch out for the signs of this most terrible, soul-destroying, and completely unfair abuse: it is not just a ‘natural part of growing-up’. You might literally be saving their lives…
> 
> Okay, rant over! :0

Sam threw his laptop down on the bed and swore angrily and loudly at Dean, at life, at everything for the umpteenth time.

And for the umpteenth time in the last four days… there was absolutely nobody else in the room to hear him.

With a sigh, the young man flopped down onto his back beside the computer and stared despondently at a spider’s web spun across the corner of the ceiling of the motel room that he had been in for the last four days.

On his own.

On his own, and worried sick about his brother.

Where the hell _was_ Dean?

He had come back into Bobby’s kitchen that morning… well, nearer afternoon by the time that Sam had woken up… looking tired and sad, and he had sat quietly at the table and eaten the offered bacon and pancakes that the old man had cooked without hardly uttering a word.

Which in itself was a major worry.

Sam and Bobby had exchanged glances, and hastened to make small talk: trying to fill the obvious and unaccustomed silence that was Dean Winchester being deep within his own thoughts.

Despite all the numerous times that both of them had wished he would shut up occasionally, and often _told_ him to as well…

…. each of them _dreaded_ it when he actually did.

Because it meant that he was so unable to deal with those thoughts that he couldn’t even begin to _try_ and cover them up with his fake, false smile, and his fake, false lies, and his fake, false bravado…

And that frightened the both of them more than anything else ever had, or ever would.

“So, boy.” Bobby tried desperately to get his attention. “Sam said that you two were thinking about heading over to Virginia… try to finally crack this witch case. Dean? Is that what you’re going to do?”

The other seemed to come out of a light trance and stared at him momentarily as if he hadn’t heard the question… until his brain caught up and the words registered: “Uh… yeah. Yeah, Bobby, at least we can do _that_. Well… hopefully…” And he was returning to his daze.

“You don’t _have_ to!” And once again, Dean was staring at him. “I mean… _Sam_ can go. He’s hunted on his own all this time anyway… he didn’t seem to need you _then_ … he can take care of _this!_ You stay here for a while with me, boy. You could do with a rest. Stay here where it’s saf…” But Bobby broke off speaking as he realised the irony of his words.

It was his turn to stare through the table. But then he was looking up, and realising that Dean’s green eyes were watching him… with such a look in them that Bobby felt as the other man could see right into his soul… and such an expression of… carefully controlled blankness on Dean’s face that made the old man shiver.

And feel like weeping.

But then Dean’s face relaxed and he smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges with an ever-increasing amount of lines: “It’s okay, Bobby. We’ll go and get this done. That’s what we _do_.”

“Okay, boy.” And that was all Bobby could manage to say.

They all carried on eating in mutual silence, the other two subtly encouraging the slave to take more bacon and perhaps another stack of pancakes… and as many mugs of coffee as they could get down him to try and drown all the whisky in his system.

Then they were all startling as Dean’s cell rang loudly in his pocket. He glanced at the display casually as he moved to answer it… but then his eyebrows were shooting up on his face and he was all but snatching at the button:

“Yeah? What? Slow down! What do you mean: they’re here?!” And Dean was jumping to his feet, all but knocking his chair over as he did, and heading straight out of the back door, deliberately without a single glance at either of the two other men in the room … “You can’t just _leave_ him…! No, I _get_ that it’s not _safe_ …

Then his brother and Bobby… who _hadn’t_ been listening as keenly as they possibly could… both rushed to get back to their seats as Dean strode back in to the kitchen, looking more animated than they had seen him for quite a while. “I gotta go! I’ll meet you in Norfolk, Sam.” And he was snatching up his bag of belongings from the hallway and hurrying back outside, with the young man right behind him.

“Dean! What the _hell!”_

But the older man was already in the Impala and slamming the door in his brother’s face. Sam was left standing in a cloud of dust and kicked-up grit as the car suddenly was being driven away, seemingly going from nought to sixty miles an hour instantaneously, and disappearing from his view.

He turned incredulously to Bobby… who was also looking as stunned and also almost tearful: “They said there wouldn’t be any more deals, Sam. Not until after this ‘event’ that’s coming up! That bastard stood here and said there weren’t to _be_ any more!”

“I know he did, Bobby.” The young man was already on his cell, trying to pick up the signal from Dean’s so he could track wherever he was going. “Shit! He must’ve turned his phone off! Why would he do that?”

“Beats me, Sam.”

It had beaten Sam as well.

He had wasted two days trying to track his brother down, but it was as if Dean had vanished off the face of the earth. Sam didn’t have a clue as to which way he could have gone, and he hadn’t turned his cell back on. But he _had_ said he would come back. So eventually the younger man had done as he’d been ordered, and headed to Norfolk, Virginia…

… only to find out that the lady that he had driven all the way across country to ask one hell of a lot of questions of… was on vacation with her husband and two little girls.

So instead Sam had moodily spent the last four days asking about the school reunion, and trying to track down anyone else who might have been at it. Particularly those with the angry faces standing behind the… now three dead and only one still alive, friends…in the photo stuck to the fridge in Jayden Panietti’s apartment.

Although it seemed as if hardly _anybody_ remembered the name of Anna Parkhouse… or Anna Garcia, as the organiser’s guest list now had her down as.

But every single _one_ of all those that the young man had talked to sure as _hell_ remembered the ‘Ice Maidens’! Or…as they were less elegantly described by one of Sam’s interviewees: ‘those four fucking _bitches_.’

So now Sam was lying on his back on a small motel room bed, staring despondently at the silver threads of a cobweb shifting lazily in the draught breezing through from the not-quite closing correctly  window. Waiting for Anna Garcia to return home.

And worrying himself sick about his brother.

He was interrupted by a low beeping noise. Sam started and looked around: he had heard that noise during the night as well, it sounded like the chime of a text coming through but there had been nothing on his cell when he had looked…

Now he checked it again. Nothing.

But this time the sound hadn’t seemed to be coming from his pocket. It had seemed to be more from his bag…

He had just got up from the mattress ready to go and check through his belongings when there came a light triple-knock on the door. Sam had his gun in his hand even as he moved to look through the spyhole… but then he was jerking the handle open and snatching physically to pull the man standing outside into the room in a panic.

“Dean, where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Was it… _them?_ Are you hurt?” He was torn between checking his brother over for injuries… or just hugging him tightly from relief.

The latter won out, even as Dean managed to respond through all the barrage of questions: “No, I…” then he was pausing… “yeah, yes, but no… it’s fine. I’m okay.”

“But it was the AE?” Sam had noticed his hesitation and was studying his brother carefully, his eyebrows creasing together in a frown.

Dean looked totally innocent: “Of course it was. Why else would I take off? You got anything to drink?”

And he was already looking around and moving past the younger man to put his bag down on the nearest bed and almost immediately snatch up the half-drunk bottle of whisky on the bedside table. Sam sighed: that was probably all the explanation for his brother’s disappearance that he was going to get… but then, as Dean had said, what else would have made the other man disappear like that? And of _course_ he wouldn’t want Sam following him if he was paying a deal…

… and all that really mattered was that Dean was safe. He would take that.

So he simply closed the door and followed his brother to where he had now settled on a small couch and was glugging down the whisky as if it were soda, almost immediately removing the bottle from Dean’s hand to the other’s disgust, and taking a long drink himself. “You hungry?”

Dean shook his head. “Just tired.” And indeed he did look exhausted again, which, strangely, despite Sam’s immediate anger and disgust at the thought, helped to cement the truth in his mind of where his brother had been the last few days.

“I’ll call Bobby and let him know you’re here. He’s been worried sick. You grab a rest.”

“I need a shower first.”

And with that, Dean was back on his feet, snatching up his bag once more, and heading to the bathroom. Sam sighed and watched him go even as he was pressing the speed-dial button on the small handheld device, bracing himself for the irrational fury that seemed to accompany every single conversation with their surrogate uncle now.

It took Dean himself to calm Bobby down: he had obviously heard the stress in his younger brother’s voice and emerged bare-footed and damp haired from the bathroom amid a cloud of steaming moisture, having hastily dressed in slightly cleaner clothes, to take the cell from Sam and try to convince the old man that he was okay.

Although Bobby was still shouting so loudly into _his_ phone that Sam could hear him clearly even now Dean was standing a few feet away: “Dang it: that bastard said this wasn’t going to be happening for a while! You alright, boy? I’ve been coming to look for you so many times, but every time I get into whatever goddamned vehicle to come after you, the blasted thing won’t start! And then, when I mess with the engine, its fine, and then when I go to drive it away, it stops again! I’m bloody _cursed!_ ”

“They’re too dangerous, Bobby. You know what they’re like: I know you’re worried but…”

“Mmph. Well, I might have tracked down one of those bastards now I’ve got some faces to look for! Get some names to go with them!

“Bobbeee.” Dean was at his most cajoling. “Leave it. _Please_.”

“I know, I know, boy.” The tone of the old man’s voice down the line was almost sing-song: “Don’t do anything to upset them in case Sam’s deal gets revoked… I _know_. I just hate sitting here doing nuttin’!”

And with that he had gone, leaving Dean sighing at the disconnected cell in his hand. He handed it ruefully back to Sam and wandered back into the bathroom to fetch his bag, before sitting back down beside the younger man and starting to pull on clean socks.

“At least it doesn’t look like they hurt you this time,” Sam was relieved to see that his brother’s movements were actually quite smooth and seemed pain-free.

“Nah. It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. Don’t you worry. Now, how are we getting on with finding Anna Parkhouse?”

“You hungry yet?”

The older man didn’t hesitate for a moment this time: “Bacon cheeseburger?”

Sam couldn’t help it: his grin got so wide that the dimples all but went through his cheeks. “Okay. Just this once.”

And… just this once… he ordered one for himself as well.

Although he made sure that when it arrived, his had come with a side salad instead of fries.

But it didn’t stop him from helping himself to some of Dean’s while he thought he wasn’t looking.

Or for the older man to smilingly nudge some more across the polystyrene container to ensure they were within his beloved younger brother’s range.

While they were eating, Sam brought him up to speed with the case: “So get this. I asked everybody I could find about Anna Parkhouse, and hardly anybody could recall her, not even the teachers who were there at the time… Well, not her name anyway.

But start talking about some of the things that happened, and they all remember _that_ , but not _who_ …

At school, she was insignificant… unremarkable in every aspect…  But she seems to have been the class whipping boy, or in this case, girl. She was the one that always got the blame… for everything…  She was the one who always seemed to be walking into things or knocking it all over. She was the one who always had their books purposely strewn across the hall. She was the one that every ball from every single type of games somehow managed to hit: apparently she all but permanently had her glasses held together with adhesive tape. She was the one that the Bitches for some reason focused on.”

“Bitches?”

“Our four… ‘Ice Maidens’. Everyone I’ve spoken to remembers _them_ alright: and ‘Bitches’ seems to be the general consensus as a more… appropriate… name.

 _They_ were reviled and grudgingly envied in equal quantities. They had the latest of everything: gadgets, fashion, hairstyles…. cars. They were the ones to be seen with: the ones to follow. And they had wealthy… and influential parents.

They pretty much ruled not just the _year,_ but the entire _school._ And blind eyes were turned to a lot of their actions… by the teachers and principal as well as the students. And they were malicious. If somebody was unfortunate enough to get their attention, then their lives were made pretty miserable…

Apparently one student somehow got locked in a safety cabinet that was being cleared out in one of the school laboratories: it must have been a very tight fit and it would have been saturated with the smell of old chemicals. It happened on a Friday night.”

“Friday…? So how long were they in there…? “

Sam’s expression gave away his underlying anger: “There was a missing person report and a complete search of the school on the Sunday morning: the mother of the girl was quite rightly hysterical by that time. I did a search on the police department database: it was Anna Parkhouse.”

Dean sat up straight beside him, his appetite suddenly waning. “Did she identify who locked her in?”

The younger man shook his head. “Said she never saw who it was. But several witnesses have told me that the Bitches claimed credit to their posse: they thought it was _hilarious_.”

Dean spoke slowly: his words almost identical to the thought going through Sam’s brain. “Saskia Mitchell’s body somehow gave the impression that she’d been squashed into a very small space for a very long time…”

“Yeah…  And on one school trip, a few have told me about there being a lot of commotion going on at the rear of the bus. A lot of raucous laughter and jeering from the group, which by that time included Martin Mitchell, that was centred around the Bitches. Turns out our ‘ladies’ had discovered how to get the cushions of the seats loose… they then had dragged another student from where she had been sitting on her own, literally forced her down on her knees on the floor and stuffed her head down beneath the padded material and… ”

“And?”

“And they’d pushed the cushions back and… _sat_ on them… and her… the entire journey. Over an hour. Laughing and joking and thinking they were really _something_ … While all the time they were…”

Sam had to stop speaking: he wanted to kill something. This all might have happened a few years ago, but bullying was _bullying_ and he wanted to _kill_ something.

“Let me guess.” Dean already knew he was stating the obvious but… _hey_ … “The student in question was Anna Parkhouse… ”

Sam didn’t need to reply. So he didn’t. “There were other things, lots of other things: those seem to be the worst. It seems that these four really had a vendetta against her for some reason. And the other students just… let them get away with it! It must have been so humiliating… and frightening… and _painful_. She could have suffocated!” Tears pricked at the young man’s eyes. “I just can’t _understand_ …”

“You know my opinion on human monsters, Sammy. And as long as they were picking on someone else, then the rest were grateful to be left alone. It’s how bullying works: how it gets so nasty. Because the others are afraid to speak up in case they become the next target…

It ain’t nice. _This_ ain’t nice. But it happens.” Dean put his arm around Sam and hugged him, upset at seeing _Sammy_ so upset. Despite himself, the younger man leaned into him for long-accustomed solace and comfort, resting his head against the other’s chest, feeling as if he was a little child again being consoled by his big brother, and grateful for the always offered support.  He forced himself to continue.

“And the bullying carried on for a long time. Right up until the night of the dance that Collins told us about. It seems Jayden Panietti went a lot further than just attacking the dress: she really didn’t care _what_ she was cutting!

Anna Parkhouse ended up in _hospital_ that night. She needed over twenty stitches on her body and arms, and was out of school for nearly two weeks, probably terrified of going back in. All because she was actually being noticed by the others in the class for a good reason for once…”

Sam fell silent. Dean held him closer while he waited for the younger man to compose himself. They had both seen some truly horrific things over the years and had faced some horrendous foes, yet Dean felt he would rather face every single one of them again… well, on second thoughts, perhaps not quite _all_ of them… than deal with human beings. Because they were definitely capable of being more horrific and horrendous than _anything_ else…

Without exception.

Finally he had recovered enough to carry on. Dean raised his eyebrows as he felt the younger man’s arms snake tightly around his waist as well and the soft long hair tickle against his skin as Sam’s nose began to nuzzle into his neck, but he let it go. “So… was that the end of it? Did these fucking bitches leave her alone after that? Mrs Collins seemed to indicate that the whole school turned against them after that event… “

“Yes and no…” Sam’s voice sounded perplexed, although now slightly muffled by his reluctance to move from his brother’s arms. “According to the rest of the class, the Bitches didn’t seem to think that they’d done anything wrong that night! That it was Anna’s fault for not simply staying still, and the rest of the class… and the school principal… who all didn’t have a sense of humour…

They wanted to get their own back…

Everyone I’ve spoken to who remembers that time all seem to think the same thing… that the Bitches were planning something _else_ for Anna Parkhouse…”

“Like what?” Dean shifted his position uncomfortably and moved to sit up straighter, nudging Sam to stop leaning so hard into him. With a sigh the younger man obeyed, although he didn’t move away.

“I don’t know. Nobody can remember anything major happening after the dance… It was as if the Bitches just… weren’t bothered about it anymore…”

The older man considered. “That doesn’t sound like Magdalaina Collins… I got the impression that she takes… took… _everything_ personally.  She would be on to her ‘daddy’ to get revenge for _her_ at least…”

“I can’t imagine Jayden Panietti letting it go either.” Sam agreed. “She seemed so full of herself and completely indifferent to everybody else. Even to her best friend and the violence of her death!”

“Yeah… When does she return from her vacation?”

Correctly surmising that Dean was referring to Anna Garcia nee Parkhouse, Sam replied: “Their neighbour said they’re due back late tomorrow afternoon, early evening.”

“Okay.” And the older man was standing up and stretching out his back, already eyeing the nearest bed. “Not an early start then, I can so go for that!”

“I suppose you haven’t been allowed to sleep much these past few days…?” Sam couldn’t help but comment bitterly.

But he was surprised by the immediately suppressed, but definitely there, twinkle that sneaked into his brother’s eyes. “More _naps_ , Sammy. Lots of naps. I’m still hungry! You still hungry?” And Dean was checking through the blinds that lined the dust-smeared window. “That a Korean place over the road?  Ya’fancy some japchae?”

“You’ve only just had a burger!”

 “That was almost an hour ago.”

Sam sighed… and considered… and decided that… yeah, _he_ could go for some noodles as well. Not that Dean was waiting for an answer: he was already pulling his boots back on and heading out of the door.

The younger man wandered across to use the bathroom while he waited. On the way back out, he found himself glancing up at the support at the top of the door frame and wondering if it would take his weight…

The next instant found Sam hanging from his hands off the horizontal support, his toes still skimming the filthy old mat on the floor. Bending his knees up towards his chest, he began to do pull-up after pull-up, wary of the wooden frame collapsing beneath his bulk of his toned but muscled body.

He was facing the motel room door as his brother returned with the meal. Dean glanced over at what he was doing momentarily, but then Sam was surprised at the sudden smirk that flashed across the older man’s face, followed by a really _filthy_ grin that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“What?” Sam jumped down… well, simply put his long legs back down on the floor and released his grip on the support… as he stared at Dean, whose expression was now totally innocent.

“Nothing.”

“What were you thinking?” The younger man wanted to know. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing… just… something funny that happened… with you. I mean, the _other_ you… it just reminded me, that’s all.”

Sam wandered across and began to poke at the cartons of food, unpacking the noodles with a casualness that belied his curiosity. “It would be nice to hear something _good_ about how I was…”

Dean glanced up at him even as he was shuffling in a mouthful of food, taking in the desperation in Sam’s eyes for… _anything_ that might have been considered normal even for a man without a soul. He sighed… this probably _wasn’t_ going to be what his little brother was hoping to hear…

But…

“He… you… never slept. Did I tell you that? Or, very rarely, anyway. And he exercised a lot: you’ve obviously noticed the results… or have you just developed an allergy to doing your shirts up when you’re around me!” The green eyes twinkled as the young man’s face reddened. “Anyway, somehow _I_ became a part of the regime… one day, he told me to hold on to him, and he… you… wrapped his legs around me and… just carried on doing pull-ups!”

Dean paused and considered: “Actually, it was really _impressive_ …

Anyway, this one day, he had only done what… eighteen, nineteen… when the bar collapsed and down we _both_ went!” He was laughing outright at the memory now, half-choking on his noodles and trying not to spray bits of shredded beef across the table. “Even _he_ thought it was funny: laughed like… well, _you_ used to laugh.” Now the smile was beginning to fade. “Just for that few moments, it felt like you were back with me.” Dean shook his head physically to try and chase away the slight sadness that was threatening to creep in. “But it really was comical, the way we just ended up sprawled in a heap on the ground…”

Quickly he stuffed some more food into his mouth and hoped that the conversation was over…

“So what happened next?” Sam wasn’t finished: he wanted more details. “Did he… I… put the bar back up? Carry on?”

Dean paused momentarily, absently licking the splattered sauce from around his lips, unaware of the younger man’s immediate attention on the motion… “No, he said that while we were both down on the floor, it would be a shame to waste it. And that was the end of the _official_ exercising for that night…”

He reached for the six pack of beer, opening two of the bottles with an easy motion via the ring on his finger and offered one to Sam. Who was frowning. And _hoping_ that he was misunderstanding… “When you say about _wasting_ it…?”

The older man raised his eyebrows and hastily swallowed down the rest of his beer before answering: “Oh come on, Sam. You _must_ have realised by now, with everything that’s gone on, that the other you didn’t have your compunctions about not wanting to force me into your bed. The very first moment we were on our own and Samuel and those other bastards weren’t around, you were ordering me down on my knees… and you’ve fucked me every which way since!

He… you… took me twice on that floor and then again in the bed. I had carpet burns all _over_ me for a couple of days!”

Then he was sighing at the horror-struck expression on the face of his brother. “Sam. It’s _okay_. You’re my master… _he_ was my master… You can’t deny that you like to be in charge in the bedroom. _He_ was no different… in fact… he _definitely_ liked to be boss!

And like I said… he hardly slept. And he liked to ‘exercise’… so I was pretty much permanently exhausted!

But that was fine: I can deal with that. And he… you… you’re really good in bed, Sam. Don’t you worry about that: I was all but permanently on the good side of sore, _and_ satisfied. _Really_. I knew where I _was_ with him: it’s just _you_ that makes me confused.”

Shit. Dean hadn’t meant to say that: he _shouldn’t_ have said that

Sam was still staring at him, his eyes wide. “You’re _confused_ at me? What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“Nothing.” The older man was trying to backpedal… _really_ quickly. “Just… don’t be upset. I know how you think you aren’t… I mean you don’t mean to… you’d hate to think that you’re forcing me. And I know how much it matters to you…

But _he_ wasn’t so worried. And it was okay: I knew where I stood… or rather lay… and I enjoyed the sex between us, so there’s nothing to be worried about. It’s the rest of what happened since you… he… came back that mattered….

But that wasn’t you, Sam. _None_ of it.”

But Sam was still staring at him blankly, trying desperately to make sense of what Dean had just said… He made his brother _confused_ …?

How did he make him confused?

His appetite lost, the younger man wandered back into the bathroom: it was either that or go for a walk… and there was no way he was going to leave his brother alone in like… for _ever_ … in case he got another call and just left again. Despondently he stared at his reflection in the mirror…

What did Dean _mean_ : that he made him confused?

And he had just confirmed what Sam had been so worried about… that the soulless version of himself had been making Dean sleep with him. He had been forcing his brother… his slave… to have sex with him.

Continually.

 _All_ the time.

And Dean was less concerned about _that_ , than he was about how Sam _confused_ him?

How did Sam _confuse_ him?

At least he had never done anything like that. He had never forced Dean into… _Despite_ how much he had wanted to, how much he sometimes _ached_ to have his brother inside him again… the only man he had _ever_ wanted to do that to him, and Sam would let him _every_ time if only the older man said he would like to once more…

Or even better, to have Dean beneath him…

Oh God, Sam had never felt anything as amazing as when Dean had finally reached for him to join their lips together. He had pulled his brother down onto him, and wanted his hands all over his body… and all the younger man’s dreams had come true. That first time…

Sam thought about it just about every single night. And all the other times they had had sex in those few brief months that they had been lovers…

Before he had screwed it all up.

But at least he had never _forced_ Dean to do that. Sam _never_ would…

Okay, he had perhaps been kissing the older man a little too much lately… He just couldn’t resist those incredible lips: he had missed them so much… and the way his brother’s smaller body felt when it was in his arms, being pressed tightly against him…

And at least Dean was letting him hold him all through the night again: he was coming to Sam’s bed like he had been told to…

Well, no. Sam had _asked_ him to. He hadn’t _told_ him to….

Sam stared at his reflection in consternation as his brain began to whizz and whirl… His brother did come _willingly_ to his bed, didn’t he?

Sam had _asked_ him. He hadn’t ordered him…

But.

How would Dean have taken it…? As a request…?

Or as an order from a master…?

His brother wouldn’t have _taken_ it as an order, would he?

 _Would_ he?

Sam was back out into the main room in the next instant, where his brother was happily finishing up both containers of noodles. “Dean? When I asked you if I could hold you again at night…? You do know I was asking, don’t you? Not _telling_ you to let me…? You do _know_ that, don’t you?”

The green eyes were open-wide as they stared at him: the mouth remained firmly closed as it was full of food.

“Dean? You _do_ let me hold you because you want to, _don’t_ you?”

Dean swallowed his mouthful and hesitated momentarily before choosing his words carefully: “It makes you happy… and that’s good. I like to see you happy, Sam. And I like being in your arms, I really mean that… I like lying with you…“

All the younger man had really noticed was the hesitation. And his own heart almost stopping inside his chest from grief. And his eyes filling with tears of shame and pain: “Oh God! You think I’m _ordering_ you! You think I’m just the same as all those others!”

“Noooo, Sam!”

“Yes! _Yes_ , Dean! You think I’m… _You_ think I’m no better than any of the rest of…”

“I think of you as my master, Sam. Because that’s what you are. _And_ you’re my brother… my kid brother. The only one I’ve _got_ …” But Dean had to stop talking abruptly as he registered his own words and his eyes filled with tears momentarily before he could blink them away. Sam felt a pang through his own heart: he had forgotten…

How could he have forgotten? Another thing he had let his brother down on…

But Dean was still talking: “Well, anyway… that’s by the bye… I don’t mind you holding me. In fact, I like it.”

“But I don’t _want_ to be your _master_ , Dean. I know I am, but it was never my choice. Don’t you get that? I hoped we were…”

“Hey. _Hey!_ ” And Dean was hurrying across the room to throw his arms around Sam, holding him tightly as the younger man’s legs all but buckled beneath him in his distress. “It’s okay, Sammy. There’s nothing to get upset about…”

“There _is_ though, Dean. I know the legalities… I know dad _left_ you to me…

 But you’re more than that to me. You always _will_ be. And I hoped… I know that it all went wrong… But I just…

I know I can’t expect you to…

But I just wanted you to feel safe. I thought it helped you sleep. I’m sorry…”

Dean momentarily released his tight hold as he made the younger man sit down on the nearest bed, before taking hold of Sam’s face in his hands and making him look up directly into his eyes. “It does help. It really does, Sam. Don’t keep saying you’re sorry: this ain’t your fault. None of it.”

The younger man snorted albeit sadly. “How do you figure _that,_ Dean? Seems all I’ve _done_ these last few years is screw up!”

He stared desperately at Dean, who sighed and went into a crouch so as to meet his gaze without hesitation: “Ruby was your fault. _Lucifer_ was your fault.” Sam laughed despite himself even as his eyes once again filled with tears. “But _this_ …? This ain’t your fault. This was dad started this with the AE… and it wasn’t you who finished it. It’s just how it is.”

Sam was grabbing at his arms even as Dean moved to stand up again to hold his brother where he was in front of him. “But I don’t want you as my slave. I don’t want you to think of me as your master! I know I’m asking a lot… I’m sorry if I’m _pushing_ you… I don’t mean to.

I _didn’t_ mean to!

You don’t have to touch me. You don’t have to get in my bed. I’ll try to keep my hands off you. I won’t kiss you, or put my arms around you, or…

Not unless you want me to.

I won’t… _do_ … anything again, Dean. I promise. You can trust me on tha… Yeah, well,” as he took note of the expression that flitted across his brother’s face, “I won’t let you down again. I’m gonna do my best to _prove_ it to you. I just want you to feel safe with me. And be as normal as it’s possible for a slave to be.”

Even as he was speaking, Sam realised that he was still holding tightly onto Dean, who had now shifted his stance to a more comfortable, and for him, more natural, kneeling position. Hastily he let go, stretching out his hands up in the air in a placatory movement.

The older man followed the motion with his eyes and sighed: “Sam. You don’t have to be worried about touching me: I don’t _mind_ what you do. It’s your right to, anyway. And as for me being ‘normal’: have our lives _ever_ been normal? And I… well, I wouldn’t know _how_ to be, anyway!”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I act normal, Sammy? This is what I mean about you being so confusing… I don’t… I mean…” Dean paused while he tried to think of the words he needed. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been good at this. Not like you. I’m trying, Sam, but…

… I don’t understand what you want me to _be_.”

The other stared down at him, his eyebrows creased together in confusion. Dean tried to explain:

“Dad… John Winchester… bought me. He was my master. He told me to be his son, and to love and take care of you as my brother.

And you _were_ my brother. You _are_ my brother. But…since dad died, it’s all changed.

“When we’re out there… out in public… I can act just as dad… John… told me to. I can pretend to be Dean Winchester: as awesome as I’ve always been! But… when it’s just you and me… I don’t know what you want me to be. I don’t know _who_ you want me to be. You make me confused, Sam.”

Sam stared at him. “I just want you to be _you_ , Dean.”

But he was taken aback as the older man stared back with total sincerity in the green eyes: “I’m _nobody_ , Sam. I never _have_ been! So how do I do that?”

The younger man wanted to respond by throwing his arms around him and telling him he was _everything_. He wanted to kiss some sense into him, and… do some other stuff as well… just to try and get through to Dean how _much_ he mattered to Sam. How much he always _would_.

But he didn’t.

Because Dean would let him. Rather than want him to.

And that mattered even more to Sam.

God, could he _get_ any more ashamed of himself?

So instead he just remained silent, because, actually, momentarily, he didn’t know what to say… “Look, Dean… I… I know you think I don’t understand. Well… I _don’t_. I don’t know how you’ve managed to deal with all of… well, _everything_ , and still remain so… “

“So… _what_ , Sammy?” Dean was still kneeling in front of him and looking up, his face full of… such innocence that it took Sam’s breath away. It wasn’t often that he caught a glimpse of the real person beneath all of his brother’s usual bravado and stolid heroism, but when he did… it was always as if he was looking at a completely different man.

A man that he wished with all his heart that he’d had the chance to get to know without all the lies forced upon them both throughout their lives.

But the underlying qualities were exactly the same. And Sam knew he would love Dean no matter _who_ he was.

“So _good_. You’re such a good person: the best I’ve ever known.”  He smiled at the incredulous look on his brother’s face. “I mean in spirit, Dean. No matter what, no matter how terrible, you’ve never given up. Not on me: even when you should have. Not against the most horrendous odds. You’ve saved so many lives, Dean, and none of them have ever thanked you. Most of them don’t even know that they _have_ been…

You’re brave, and you’re loyal, and annoying, and _loud_ ,” Dean snorted. Sam smirked even as his eyes began to shine with moisture once more. “ _And_ obnoxious. And usually embarrassing as hell.

And that can’t all be acting. _Some_ of that must be the real you beneath it all.

And you’re my _hero_. You always will be.

My big brother.”

By this time the older man was frowning and shaking his head even while steadily blushing a bright red. Momentarily he didn’t want to meet Sam’s eyes, and the younger man understood why he couldn’t. Dean had never been good at accepting compliments… even when it was the plain and simple _truth_.

But that didn’t mean that Sam was ever going to stop saying such things… because one day… Dean might actually listen…

And even better, one day he might actually _believe_ him.

To try and let the older man get over his embarrassment, Sam forced himself to get up from the bed and move across to the other one. “We’d better get some sleep ready to meet this woman tomorrow.” Sam paused: “I meant every _word_ of that, Dean. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and probably ever will: slave or not.

And I meant what I said: from now on I’ll try to keep my hands to myself. I’m sorry if you feel I’ve been forcing you. I didn’t mean to. I _wouldn’t_ have… I should have thought of it from your point of view.”

By this time he had slipped off his boots and top shirts, and was climbing in t-shirt and demins beneath the covers, deliberately turning to lie facing away from where Dean was still kneeling on the floor and watching his every move. “From now on, everything is your choice. And I won’t be angry if you don’t want… I mean…

You’re my _brother_ , Dean.

We might have found ourselves as master and slave, but you will always, first and foremost, be my _brother_. And you get to choose who you want to be…

Or who you _want_ …

I can’t stop those AE bastards from putting their hands on you against your will, but I can sure as hell stop _me_ from doing the same damned thing! I’m really _sorry_ , Dean.”

Sam had finally talked himself out. He fell silent, desperate not to do or say anything more that might once again be misconstrued by the other man, and closed his eyes, blinking out slight semi-circular lines of tears.

He heard Dean sigh and get up from his knees, moving easily to sit on the other bed, the mattress squeaking as his weight settled on it.

Then there was a long silence.

Sam had all but decided to go to sleep… he had been waiting for his brother to get into the other bed, or turn the light off… or just go _out_ to get away from the younger man like he had felt the need to so many times before… when he heard Dean finally move.

He heard the salt being poured as the older man checked the lines beneath the windows and door and refreshed them. He heard the security bolt being pulled across the door. He heard, and blinked a little as it shone into his eyes even through the shut lids, as the bathroom light was turned on and the door closed for a few minutes before Dean re-emerged and headed towards the other bed, clicking the main light off on the way…

Then he was suddenly wide awake with surprise, and immediate arousal, as the mattress on his bed dipped behind him, and there was a warm body climbing onto it. Sam forced himself to stay still, to not respond as Dean’s arms slid around _him,_ pulling the younger man’s back close against his firm chest to hold on tightly as the so-called big spoon. “This okay, Sammy?”

“As long as it is with you.”

He felt the nod rather than be aware of any verbal response, and heard the accompanying grunt: “It’s okay with _me_ , Sam. It always has been.”

Sam couldn’t help the grin from spreading across his face even as he wriggled back on the mattress slightly to get even closer into the warm strong embrace of his brother. They lay in comfortable silence for a long time…

Sam had been thinking: “Look, Dean. About Billy. I should have thought of him before, I’m sor…”

“Sammy, I _swear_ : you say sorry to me once more and I’m getting out of this bed!”

The younger man couldn’t help but chuckle. And impossibly wriggled back more, aware of every inch of the other against his back and legs. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking. We should start looking for your brother… your real one, I mean. He must be…what? Thirty? Thirty-one? Perhaps we could ask Agent Ford for help? He could look in the FBVS files…”

“No.” And Dean was pulling away, sliding his arms out from beneath Sam’s body, and twisting in the bed to lie on his back.

The younger man also turned in a slight panic at the resolve in his brother’s voice to look at him: “But why? We can find him! At least we can _try_ … We can _try_ and find your baby brother…”

“And then what, Sam? You tell me! If he’s still alive: _then_ what? I go up to him, and tell him that I’m being used as a… And when I’m not, I’m hunting monsters… or _have_ been hunted by a bastard angel who wanted to use me as a meat suit to destroy the world with… or I’ve spent more than my whole lifetime so far on Earth in _Hell!_

What am I going to _tell_ him, Sam?

Nah. He’s better off not knowing what a screw-up his big brother turned out to be!”

“You’re not a screw-up, Dean! And we could at least…”

“I said _no_ , Sam.”

And that was the end of the discussion. Sam bit the inside of his lower lip bloody, but could see from the anger in the older man’s eyes, and the clench of his jaw, that there would be no reasoning with him about the topic. Not that night, at any rate.

And certainly not if he wanted Dean to remain in the bed with him.

Which Sam did.

 _Very_ much.

So instead the young man settled for settling back down beside his brother, facing him this time and snuggling into the gap between Dean’s outstretched bicep and his body, resting his head on the older man’s muscled torso even as the other instinctively put his arm around him just as he had done when they were children together.

It felt good.

Sam didn’t even care that his feet and the best part of his calves were hanging over the end of the bed: he just dared to put his hand across Dean’s chest, trying but not succeeding in not brushing his fingers against his brother’s hard nipple as it protruded beneath his thin t-shirt, even as he curled in as close as he could.

Too close.

Sam hastily tried to pull his body away before Dean became aware of just how hard he was, just from being near to his brother… he didn’t want to give the older man any reason to feel pressured in any way. For anything.

Never again.

He blushed as he felt Dean’s eyes on him as the other sat up a little: even in the dark the scrutiny was intense, and Sam could make out the green of the irises clearly. “Sorry,” he mumbled…

He felt the responding grunt through the mattress rather than heard it.

“I don’t want you to do anything about it… well…” Sam knew the other man well enough to know that any lie would be seen straight through… “I _do_. If you want… I mean, whatever you want… But I’d never make you… or tell you to… But if you _do_ …” He became aware that the eyebrows had risen quizzically and hurried to end his mumbled rambling… “then you can. I’d take anything you want to give… As long as it’s what _you_ want… I mean…”

“Shut up, Sammy.” And Dean was lying back down and motioning with his arm for the young man to settle against him once more.

They lay in silence for a while longer. Sam willed his erection to go down but… he was far too aware of every breath that his brother took and how it caused his chest to move beneath the younger man’s head, rippling his long hair as it was spread out against the skin at Dean’s neck, and how steadily and comforting his brother’s heart was as it beat, echoed and reverberated through Sam’s whole body until he felt his entire being was just about vibrating with the same rhythm…

… _every_ single bit of him…

… and he was ready to swear that he had never been so aroused in all of his life.

“Touch yourself.”

Sam nearly leapt off the bed, Dean’s sudden words from the darkness had startled him so much. “What?!”

“Touch yourself. Beat one off. Whatever your delicate sensibilities want to call it, Samantha, just do it.”

“ _Now?_ ” The younger man’s voice was a squeak. And not a manly one.

“Now.”

Sam felt the previous embarrassment resurface and surge once more through the skin on his face… hell, he felt even the tips of his _ears_ begin to sizzle with the intensity of his blush… but he obeyed, fumbling to undo his denims and loosen them enough to be able to expose his boxers beneath, before sliding his hand inside…

He was blushing for another reason as he once more felt his brother shift his position slightly and realised that he was watching him, completely unperturbed by the all but total darkness that they were lying in. Sam pursed his lips and tried to ignore the attention, concentrating instead of working his hand up and down his cock in a steady rhythm, trying and failing not to imagine that it was Dean’s hand instead, or even better his incredible mouth and lips…

Then he was gasping out loud as Dean _did_ reach to put his hand over his, also slipping his calloused but tender fingers inside his brother’s underwear to wrap around Sam’s longer, slimmer ones, and assist him to stroke himself…

Sam turned his head enough to meet Dean’s gaze straight on, locking eyes through the gloom of the room: neither wanting to break the intensity of the moment as both hands worked in unison to bring the younger Winchester brother to near climax…

He was almost there. He was so close. Then Dean leant up a little, and forward a little, and met Sam’s lips with his own, in a kiss so soft… and tender… and _amazing_ , that tipped the younger man over the edge immediately. He wasn’t even aware of the sloppy mess he had just made in his boxers as he exploded: all he could do was lay completely lax for a few minutes, panting and gasping as he tried to recover his breath.

“That was… that… _Thank_ you!” And he was forgetting what he had just promised and reaching for his brother eager for both another kiss _and_ to return the favour…

But he quickly remembered and pulled his hands away, holding them up and out in supplication. “Sorry. But can I…?”

He fell silent at the eyes again stared straight into his, then Dean smiled suddenly, a gentle innocent smile that once again Sam couldn’t quite recognise on his brother’s face, and leant forward to kiss the younger man on the forehead, before resettling once more on his back. “One day at a time, Sammy. That okay?”

He cocked his arm into the air by the elbow in invitation and Sam hurried to take it, laying beside the older man once more, unconcerned about how cold his uncovered feet now were, just enjoying the shared warmth of the rest of their bodies and mutual comfort, with only one obvious exception marring it… “ Dude, my underwear feels _gross_ …”

The responding laugh was genuine: “But you loved it, bitch.”

Sam felt his dimples burrow deep in his cheeks at the coarse but definite endearment: “Jerk.”

And with that, they both settled to try and sleep.

Sam was alone when he woke up. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but got up and headed to the bathroom, grimacing a lot at the way his boxers were crunching as he moved.

Dean had returned with breakfast by the time he had used the water from the shower to peel away his clothes: Sam could smell the aroma of really good coffee wafting through the bathroom door. To his horror he realised that he had left his bag, and more importantly his clean clothes, in the main room. He had no choice but to wrap a towel around his waist and go to fetch them, hoping that his brother wouldn’t think that he was trying to seduce him… or worse, _order_ him to do anything that he didn’t want to…

Peeking through the small gap in the door that he had made, Sam waited until his brother’s back was turned away from him as he unpacked the bag full of breakfast muffins and take-out coffee, then sneaked out past him, hoping to be able to grab the bag and run back into the bathroom. But Dean’s deep voice stopped him even as his fingers wrapped around the handle… “This’ll be the first time you’ve been shy in front of me for a long while.”

“No, I…”

“Look, Sam.” And Dean was turning round where he stood and leaning back against the counter. “The undone shirts… or not having ‘clean’ clothes to put on… I know what you’ve been doing. And… it’s okay, Sammy. You have an amazing body: a really incredible one...” His eyes were now travelling openly over the younger man’s firm naked torso and long shapely limbs: Sam couldn’t decide whether he was more embarrassed or aroused… no, actually, the way his towel was tenting, it was _definitely_ the latter… “And…” Dean himself blushed suddenly and had to study his booted feet. “Iliketolook.”

“What?”

Dean’s complexion was definitely now bright red: “I like looking at you. I like you touching me. You’ve always been so gentle with me when it comes to…

Hell,” He sighed and had to look back down at the ground. “It’s never _been_ the desire between us that’s at _issue_ , Sam…” His words tailed off, he looked a little wistful.

“Anyway,” Dean tried to change the subject, Sam was torn between pursuing it or letting the older man have a chance to compose himself once more. His decision was made as his brother took a deep breath and reached for his hot drink, looking up to meet the other’s eyes straight on. “You said you still had a couple of people to interview before she and her family return…?”

“Yeah… yes. I better get dressed…“ And Sam was heading back into the bathroom to have yet another hurried shower.

They didn’t learn anything new from the morning’s meetings, so eventually they just drove to Anna Garcia’s and waited. And waited some more.

Just waiting for the lady to arrive home.


	14. Norfolk, Virginia - Part Two

Eventually in the late afternoon, a station wagon drew up on the driveway. Two little girls immediately jumped out of it and raced towards the front door, squealing with delight to be home as their parents also got out and called for them to come and help unload the vehicle: the requests going completely unheeded at the youngsters determined intent on reclaiming their dwelling and all their treasures within.

The Winchester brothers sat and watched as the car got unpacked and the family had all gone inside. Only then did they decide to approach the house… but to their surprise, the door opened just as they were about to knock on it, and Anna Garcia was emerging through it: “Tony! I’m just going to mail this package! Oh, hello!”

She fell silent as they both stared at her.

For, close-up, Anna Garcia, nee Parkhouse, was probably the most _beautiful_ woman that either had ever seen in their lives: perfect chiselled-but-smoothly soft features, huge doe-brown eyes, lips _nearly_ as soft and plump as Dean’s, deep dimples still obvious from the smile… _Incredible_ figure.

“Wow.” The older Winchester spoke for both the brothers. “No wonder the Bitches hated _you_ …”

“Excuse me…?” But her expression was falling and suddenly she couldn’t seem to look directly at either of them… “Erm, can I help you?”

Sam recovered himself enough to reach for his (fake) FBI badge: “Mrs Garcia? We’d like to talk to you? We’re trying to speak to anyone who was at the school reunion a few months ago: I don’t know if you’ve heard but there’s been a couple of strange deaths…”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that…!” Her voice was too high. Too shrill.

“Mrs Garcia? May I call you Anna?” Sam was at his most puppy-eyed persuasive. “We don’t think they were very nice ladies. In fact, from what we’ve learned from everyone else, they were really, really _horrible_ ladies.

Especially to you.

But we _would_ like to talk to you… if you’ve got a few minutes…”

“Not here.” The smile was long gone, her face had drained of just about every drop of blood: she clutched the package to her as if it was the only thing momentarily holding her upright…. But then she was remembering it. “I’ve got to get this in the mail.”

“We can drive you. And talk on the way, if that’s okay?” Dean saw the opening and took it.

Anna Garcia hesitated… and then nodded: “Alright…”

It was a completely silent car journey. Sam accompanied the beautiful woman as she handed the parcel to the postmaster before returning to the Impala. “Now. Where to, Mrs Garcia?”

There was another long silence. The brothers sat in the front seats and waited.

“Mrs Garcia?”

“Anna, please.” She sighed, the soft brown eyes filling with tears. “I know what this is about. I knew this would happen… I’ve heard…

 _They’ve…_ been _dying_ , haven’t they? And because of what they did… that’s why _you’r_ e here. But it’s nothing to do with me: how could it be? And don’t expect me to be sorry that they’re dead. Because I’m not! Those women made my life _hell!_ ”

“So we’ve heard, ma’am.” Dean’s deep voice was at its most calming as he twisted in his seat to talk to her. “About what happened on the bus. What happened at the dance. We just wanted to hear it from your point of view… _and_ …”

“And?” The woman was leaning forward from the rear seat to meet his eyes straight on.

“And we’d like to know what happened _after_ , ma’am. What they were going to do _next_.

And why they didn’t.”

The intense green eyes stared into the deep-brown ones without blinking… and the deep-brown ones were the ones that had to turn away, the woman blushing a deep red and looking down at her hands.

“You know _why_ they didn’t, don’t you ma’am?”

She chewed at her lip, but nodded: her gaze still intent on her wedding ring…. “You’d never believe me…”

“Try us, ma’am. You’ll be _amazed_ at what we’ll believe.”

She looked back up at Dean in surprise, her eyes once more staring into his… and she must have seen something in them…

Because… slowly… she nodded. “I’ll take you to the house.” The whisper was almost inaudible.

Sam and Dean exchanged surprised looks, but the older man obediently started the engine and followed the directions given by the woman… taking them a little way out of Norfolk…

… to an old, large, near-ruinous, extremely creepy looking residence at the end of a meandering, weed-encrusted, only-just visible track.

Dean had metaphorically bitten his tongue with every deep rut and groove, trying his hardest not to bitch about having to drive his Baby along it and trying not to sigh at the sight of yet _another_ crumbling building that they would probably end up getting thrown about in. Then he was being startled by Sam’s sudden loud exclamation of recognition: “This is the Johnson House!”

“The what?”

The younger man’s eyes were wide. “I’ve been researching the area… I’ve had four _days_ on my own here after all… this was the scene of a notorious murder at the beginning of the last century. The entire family were slaughtered… or perhaps they all slaughtered each other! No one knows who was killed first or last: the mother, father, two grown-up sons, teenage daughter… whatever happened in that house, it was a bloodbath!

And there’s been other bodies found in the house over the years since. Not often, no pattern that I can see: hobo’s looking for a roof over their heads for the night; kids daring each other that they can stay in there until dawn; the usual ghost facing imbeciles… Some violent but with no obvious explanation of who, what or how: others just… as if they lay down and _died_. I was going to suggest that we check it out once we’d finished _this_ case…”

“Great.” Dean couldn’t hide his sarcasm. Sam rolled his eyes. “So why are we here, Mrs Garcia?”

There was a large sigh from the woman in the back of the car. “Because they brought me here. That was their next… idea.”

The two men in the front seat turned to stare at her. She was staring out through the Impala’s rear window, lost in her own memories: “I thought I was meeting James Trevino. I was so excited: my first real date. I had only just had the stitches out from what happened at the dance. I thought we were going to see a film… I was going to buy the popcorn!”

She sighed and looked around to face the brothers once more.  “I waited for him… James… in the parking lot across from the movie theatre. Mom didn’t like that: she said he should have picked me up, said a _gentleman_ would’ve come to our door to get me…

But, anyway, there I was. Standing in the cold, waiting for James… When I plucked up the courage to ask him about it after… why he’d done it… he didn’t know what I was talking about. It must have been someone else they got to do it. To trick me, I mean. Probably Martin, he would have done _anything_ if it meant getting Saskia’s attention, even for just a few minutes…

Next thing I knew, there was something being pulled over my head and my arms were being grabbed so hard I couldn’t move, and then I was being bundled into… well, it turned out to being in the trunk of a vehicle that started to move.

And we ended up _here_.”

With a last glance down at her wedding ring, Anna Garcia opened the rear door of the Impala and got out, momentarily pausing while both the Winchesters hurried to follow. She continued her story as they all walked up the weed-covered path towards the house.

“I had no idea where we were. I was dragged back out of the car: I could hear them sniggering and giggling as they carried me. Then I was literally dropped onto the floor… I forgot, they’d tied my hands as they put me in the trunk... the sack, or whatever it was, was removed from my head… and I was in this dusty dirty room, with the four of them all around, laughing and joking about the ghost, and how I was definitely going to piss myself, and how they were going to film it all and show the entire school how disgusting I was…

And I realised where they had brought me.”

By this time, she was leading the brothers into the remains of the house: not via the front door, but instead climbing through one of the now broken and glassless windows on the ground floor, ducking beneath the damp, moulding drapes to gain access to the large room beyond. Sam was already checking the area with his EMF reader even as Dean was clambering in behind them, gun and flashlight in hand. “Nothing. Yet.”

They both swung their lights around: at one stage in the life of this house, it must have been a pretty impressive family drawing room, complete with large uncomfortable-looking leather couches that were now cracked and split; dark-wood furniture: sideboard, coffee tables, a larger side table; a couple of scattered upright chairs; old lamps and even older photographs in frames… and dark stains that littered the mildewed rugs where blood had been spilt.

Where a _lot_ of blood had been spilt.

“They’d only lived here for a few weeks when it happened.” Sam commented as he moved across to the door and the large hallway beyond. “The house was quite new then: the father moved the family here as he was the new manager at the local bank. One of his sons was due to start working there as well the nest week…” He was scanning the area as he spoke, tensed and alert in case the red lights spiked…

“So where did they…?” Dean was making sure that he stayed close to the woman who had brought them there in case he needed to put himself between her and… whatever… if necessary.

She nodded gratefully at him. “Here. They dragged me out through here to the entrance hall and left me. Apparently this is where they found Mr Johnson with his head smashed in. They set a couple of cameras up to record me disgracing myself… they always had all the latest gadgets. One was resting on that table… the other was on that cabinet…“ She nodded to an old display cabinet in the large entrance hallway, the glass now long gone and the remaining small objects inside all smashed, tarnished or simply covered in dust. “They said they’d come back in the morning, see if I was still alive…”

“ _Bitches_.” Sam glanced back at the viciousness in his brother’s outburst and silently agreed even as he moved towards the two-tiered staircase that led to a large balcony-type landing above them with the EMF reader, wondering whether to try up there first or risk opening any of the numerous other doors that also led off the large hallway area…

But Anna was also nodding in absolute agreement with the sentiment. “They definitely were. It wasn’t _only_ me they hated: there were a few whose lives they all but destroyed. But nobody ever seemed to want to do anything about it.

They were probably hoping they’d scare me to death, bringing me here. But it was _them_ who got the scare…”

“What happened?” Sam paused from his scanning to ask.

She was shaking a little… from cold, nerves, terror, or just traumatic memories, it was hard to say. Dean shrugged himself out of his suit jacket and moved to wrap it around her slim shoulders, still keeping a tight grip on his gun.

Anna smiled at him with genuine gratefulness in her eyes: “ _She_ appeared. It was a while: I’d been left an hour by then… maybe more. But then _she_ was suddenly there.”

“Who was, ma’am?”

But the woman shook her head, the smile fading a little. “I’m not sure. The ghost of the girl… the teenage daughter: Belinda? She was wearing a long dress: I mean, from when long dresses were worn by women as a matter of course. I’m not sure _who_ she was. But she was suddenly _there_.” She indicated an area just to the right of where Dean was standing, her hand trembling as she pointed.

“She was floating, or I think she was. And she looked so…” Anna’s face screwed up a little as she tried to think of the word that she needed to use to explain, her perfect nose wrinkling up with such appeal that both the men couldn’t help but stare at it… “She was angry. She was hostile because her home had been intruded into…

She wanted me out. She wanted to kill, she wanted to… because she _could_.”

“A ghost, then? You’re saying you saw a ghost?” Sam just wanted to clarify.

The beautiful woman was nodding vigorously: “Of course a ghost. The spirit of the girl. We really should get out of here. She wanted vengeance for her life being cut so short by… well, whoever it was… And it’s not as if you could kill her again…”

“Okay.” But Sam was glancing back down at his… so far, completely unresponsive scanner… and exchanging looks with Dean, who was obviously _also_ thinking about the hex bags that they had been finding with each of the deaths… “So what happened next, Mrs Garcia?”

They were both surprised by the sound of her sudden melodic and somewhat hysterical laughter: “What do you _think_ happened? I screamed my _head_ off! I was _terrified!_ I’m pretty sure I did actually pee myself! But…

 _She_ looked surprised as well. Because of how I was…tied up like that, I mean. And then the four of them came running in laughing: they must have been waiting just outside the front door all the time, ready to play some more tricks on me… and she _saw_ them.

And they saw _her_ …

And then _they_ were screaming. And the room went crazy: everything went everywhere. I mean… _everywhere_. They were going up the _walls,_ furniture was moving: Saskia got thrown right across to the stairs. Mags… she _went_ for Mags… the ghost, I mean: long fingers and even longer nails…” Anna shuddered at the memory… “and she was going for her face… she was going to claw her _eyes_ out! And even while I was so terrified, I hoped she _would_ because of what they had been doing to _me!_ Does that make me a bad person?”

This appeal was addressed to both the brothers equally: Sam replied for them both. “No. Just human.”

Anna Garcia nodded: relief from years of contrition evident on her face. “Anyway, Mags fought and screamed and kicked and… then she was running: the ghost laughing behind her. They were _all_ running. All _screaming_. Out of the house and back into the car: I heard the tyres screech away.

Leaving me _here_.

Alone.

With _her_.”

“So what happened?”

The brothers had spoken in unison. Despite herself, the woman couldn’t help a chuckle from escaping her mouth at their synchronicity. “Actually… I’m not really sure, agents. She… the ghost… stared at me. I fainted, or… at least… the next thing I remember is waking up in here… on the floor in my own… well, you don’t need to know that…

I’d been untied somehow. And their equipment was all on the floor beside me, smashed to pieces. I didn’t even stop to pick it up: I ran as well. Just like we should now before she realises we’re here…

Mum was beside herself by the time I got home, all for calling the police again…

And the Bitche… the girls… left me alone after that. It took me a while to realise that they must have thought I’d taken their cameras: they might have been going to show everyone _my_ breakdown, but as far as they were concerned, I now had evidence of not only what they’d done to me, but of _them_ having ones instead… I mean they were _hysterical_ … which would have been _far_ worse than being expelled as far as they were concerned: everyone would’ve laughed at them. Anyway, for whatever… they gave me no more bother after that.

I actually got to enjoy my last year of school… or at least, not _hate_ it.

And that’s it. That’s what happened that day. And now we have to go, before she appears again: I really don’t want to be here again if she does. After all, you can’t arrest a _ghost_.

But I don’t know _what’s_ been happening since: why three of them are now dead. _Really_ I don’t, agents. As far as I was concerned: that was a truly horrible time of my life, but it all ended years ago and I just wanted to _forget_ it.  I got married, have a family that I love very much. I don’t _know_ why they’re dead.

I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

She fell silent, huddling deeper into Dean’s jacket as the damp air from the old, musty house began to chill, waiting for the ‘FBI agents’ responses…

The brothers again shared a look. The younger man imperceptibly nodded to the older and stepped slightly away to force the woman to have to turn her head when looking between them… Dean sighed as he forced himself to address her:

“No. _No_ , Mrs Garcia. I’m sorry but we _don’t_ believe you.”

“What?” Her surprise was genuine… but then she was nodding her head thoughtfully, tears beginning to escape her eyes to trickle down her cheeks. “I know it sounds crazy…”

“We’ve heard crazier, believe me!” Sam spoke up. “We’ve _seen_ crazier as well. But what we don’t believe… is that you’re telling us about a ghost, one that you say you were absolutely terrified of… and yet you don’t _seem_ all that frightened. You seem… actually… more nervous about _us_ being here: it’s _us_ you want gone from this house…”

“Which is making us wonder why, ma’am.” Dean took back the conversation. “Especially when our equipment’s showing no sign of a spirit… _and_ we have proof that all the ladies were killed by witch-craft.

So how about you start again, Mrs Garcia? But with the _truth_ this time.”

She was staring at him in open horror. At both of them. “ _Witch-craft?_ But there’s no such _thing as a_ witch!” Her voice had gone shrill again. But this time, neither man cared. “Please!” She sounded desperate now. “That _is_ what happened! And you have to go, _we_ have to go, because she’ll appear, she really _will,_ and we’ll _all_ be in danger… _Please!_ ”

“If she appears, ma’am, we’ll be ready for her.” And Sam and Dean were checking their guns, ready to do a sweep of the house…

Only to stare in shock as their weapons were abruptly swept from their hands by some invisible force that clattered them away to the end of the hallway. Followed almost immediately by the brothers themselves, as ‘something’ plucked them from their feet and hurled each back-hitting-first to the nearest walls…

… and pinned them there.

“What the fuck….!”

“Don’t hurt them! Please don’t! There’s no need for this!” Anna was screaming… but _at_ something. At some _one_. “Please. I don’t want anyone else hurt! _Please!_ ”

“I’m not going to hurt them.” The brothers both started in surprise at the sound of the answering voice and tried to turn their heads enough to see where… or more rather, who… it was coming from… “I’m going to _kill_ them! You shouldn’t have brought them here.”

“I wanted them to know what happened. And then I…” The beautiful woman was crying again, but this time from real fear. “I hoped they’d _go!_ I wanted them to just… go… and leave me alone.”

“Don’t worry. They will.” The maliciousness in the words made both men shiver… and then they were staring as the voice’s owner came into each of their awkward views, pressed as they were against their respective side of the hallway… and they could see…

… another woman standing in the area with them. She would also once have been beautiful. A long time ago. But now the power that she obviously possessed was vying her for actually being in control… and the unnaturally held-together aged body was giving the clue…

“Witch.” Sam could only breathe the word as he stared at the slight figure, dressed in a long dark dress; her hair wild and greying; her eyes red-rimmed and dark with hatred; fingers thin and gnarly complete with talon-like nails that made them seem nearly as long again… “Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter… Hunter.” Both man stared at her and willed themselves to be able to move their hands… or get their weapons… or preferably both. “Do you think I don’t recognise one… or two… when I see one: your kind have all but exterminated _mine_.”

“I don’t understand…” Anna Garcia was looking at them all in confusion. “These men are from the FBI. What do you mean, hunter? Mary, what do you mean?”

“Hunters, Anna. They’re Hunters: they track down people like me… things like me… and destroy us. Because we’re not ‘normal’. Not like ordinary people: none of _them_ would ever hurt anybody else, _would_ they?”

“ _Mary?_ Anna, who is this? How do you know her? _Why_ do you know her?”

Dean’s deep gravelly voice seemed to pull Anna out of her bewilderment: she paused from staring wildly around her to instead focus on him. And seemed to make up her mind.

“Everything I told you was true. I swear: _everything._ Except…”

“Except that the ‘ghost’ is actually a _witch_. So what _actually_ happened, Anna?”

“Everything like I said, agent… erm… is she right?  _Are_ you and your partner FBI?”

The green eyes met hers without hesitation: “No, ma’am. We _are_ Hunters. And we’re brothers. We’re just trying to understand.”

Mrs Garcia nodded, white-faced but thoughtful: “It was as I told you. All of it. Those girls… those four bitches… abducted me and brought me here. And they fled out of here absolutely terrified. I thought Mary would kill me like she had the others, but… with a click of her fingers… she undid my hands and wanted to know why I was there like that, and she was furious when I told her.

She became my friend.

I started coming up here to see her, and she taught me some magic. She taught me enough to convince them to never try to hurt me again and I thought it was over.” A tear slipped down her cheek again. “I _hoped_ it was over. I hadn’t seen them for years: they’d all moved away. Moved on.

Then, at that damned school dance, there they were. And Jayden saw my husband at the school dance and immediately started to flirt with him… pressing herself against him. Right in _front_ of me… and I just saw red. Everything they had done…

I wasn’t going to let them get away with it anymore. So I came and talked to Mary, and… she said it was time to stop them permanently…

She showed me what to do…

And I wanted to, agent…. I _wanted_ them to pay. I wanted them to stop. I didn’t realise it would be so _violent_ but… Look, I still have nightmares about what they did to _me.._.”

“I understand the need for revenge, Mrs Garcia. _Believe_ me, I do. But it doesn’t make it right. And… it doesn’t stop the pain.” Dean glanced across to Sam at the younger man’s sincere words. His brother might have been talking to the women, but his eyes were fixed on the older man. “All you can do really is hope to find forgiveness for the sake of your own soul…

… and that’s probably the hardest thing there is in the whole world to do.”

He couldn’t help but flush red in the face as Dean smiled at him, despite their precarious positions of being physically held and crushed against walls. And Sam suddenly knew…. despite all his brother’s previous words and assurances… Sam finally _knew._

He _was_ forgiven.

Completely.

Love for Dean welled up inside him… as did something else that threatened to as well… but this was neither the time nor the place. He forced his attention back on the important matter at hand…

“So your name is Mary? And okay, so you’re Mrs Garcia’s friend, but you helped her to viciously kiil those women. And what about the Johnson’s? Was that you? You murdered them in their own home!”

“It’s not their home! It never was! I was here years before them!” Mary strode over to stare directly up into his face. “I’ve lived here hundreds of years. I came over in the ships to find new herbs and perfect my skills. People used to come and ask me for help; for potions; for curses. Then the witch trials began and I learnt to hide.

I hid myself. I hid my home. Look.”

And she was stepping away from the younger Winchester to instead head across to where Dean was pinned. But before she got to within touching distance of him, her hand was instead reaching out, into thin air, and motioning as if… as if it was pressing down on an invisible door latch.

Then both the brothers were staring as a shaped hole opened in the middle of the hallway: a doorway-shaped hole that seemed to lead through to somewhere dark yet lit with unnaturally coloured flickers of light, and scented with the aromas of herbs, and bubbling pots, and the croaking of toads, the squeaking of mice, the distinctive mew of at least one cat, and numerous other noises and squeals that Sam wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to identify!

“What the…?” “That’s where you live? Right in the middle of this house in your own…?”

“They built _round_ me! They should have left me alone! And that fool, stamping down those stairs, screaming at me to leave _his_ house… well, he shouldn’t have been so stupid. I was here first!”

“So… your home is… here? But in another dimension?” Every time Dean thought he had seen it all, he got proved wrong. But this was weird even by his and Sam’s standards! “How did you find another dimension?”

“It’s my dimension! I created it! With my magic!”

“Fuck.”

“But… how?” Sam’s mind was also reeling. “How is it… here? That’s a supporting wall behind Dean, yet your…hut… cabin… cottage… must be going through it...?”

“Sammy, the logistics are the least of it right now…?” The older Winchester was sighing at his brother’s nerdishness. “She just said she was going to kill us…?”

“She won’t. She didn’t mean it.” Anna Garcia was speaking up for her friend. “Things have only happened because she had to defend herself…”

“But she’s still killed, ma’am. The Johnson’s didn’t deserve that. The others didn’t deserve that.”

“And I didn’t deserve what those Bitches did to me, agent… erm… whoever you really are. But it happened! Shit happens! _They_ were threatening _her!_ ”

“And they ended up dead, ma’am. Just like Saskia Mitchell, Jayden Panietti, and Magdalaina Collins. They’re all _dead_ … ma’am.”

The woman stared at him, the brown eyes wide with horror as she was forced to face the truth of the consequences of her actions: “I killed them.” The words were all but whispered. “I just wanted them to stop… but I killed them, didn’t I? _Didn’t_ I?”

Even as she began to cry once more, Mary had lost all patience with the situation. “Enough of this!” And she was raising her hands and muttering some words that caused green sparks to somehow flare from the ends of her taloned fingers… and pointing them in Dean’s direction where he was still held against the wall by the sheer force of her power. “Stop tormenting her!”

“No!” Anna rushed at her, pulling at her friend’s arms in desperation. “No, this is my fault! You only did this for me, Mary! Let them go! They’ll leave you alone: I’m sure they will!”

“They’re _Hunters!_ ” And the witch was pushing Anna Garcia away as the sparks increased from her finger tips… but the interference had been enough to make her lose her concentration for that vital second… and both the Winchesters abruptly fell on their faces as the pressure on their respective bodies suddenly released: Dean rolling clear as the spits of light suddenly evolved into a flare of violent force that hit where he had just been and blew the family portrait pictures off the wall… and completely destroyed a heavy cabinet  that had stood just to the left of him, blasting it to pieces and raining down splinters of smashed glass from its doors onto his prone form as he desperately tried to cover himself…

“Dean!”

But Sam was also scrabbling to move away quickly as the witch turned her attention to _him:_ more sparks causing the bottom half a dozen rungs of the stairs to disintegrate into thousand of sharp slivers of flying wood as he found protection cowering beneath a hall table.

“Sammy!”

And Dean was trying to charge at Mary… no, he was snatching at Anna as she tried once again to pull the witch’s arm back and down… and instead left herself in the line of a direct face-full of magically cast violence as her ‘friend’ turned on her with absolute fury before the older Winchester’s sprinting tackle knocked her out of the way only just in time as the front door beyond her blew out as if it had been detonated explosively, and the walls on either side cracked and crumpled into piles of rubble.

Mrs Garcia shrieked with terror as she and Dean both fell hard onto the tiled floor, skidding a little on one of the numerous rugs until they ended up knocking into one of the still untouched areas of wall. “Stay down,” he ordered and pushed her flat as another forceful blast tore past them close enough for the concussion of the impact to physically hurl him away again, causing him to crack his head hard against a solid wood bench that stood beside by the table that his brother was still hiding under.

Dean lay dazed and bleeding momentarily. Without his jacket to hold it in place, the action of being thrown around the entrance hall… or what was left of it… had caused his dress shirt to ride up on his torso, exposing the raised brand of the AE on his back.

The witch paused. And stared momentarily at it. Sam looked up at her and winced as the fury and hatred in her face exponentially grew…

“You’re from _them_. I told them to go away and leave me alone: I _wouldn’t_ be forced to work for them! And now _you’re_ here… trying again…

I’m going to burn that thing _off_ you, you bastard.”

Mary was across the room in an instant, far too fast for any normal human, to kneel harshly and physically on Dean’s back and shoulders, causing him to wince and moan with pain beneath her, already muttering a spell again breathlessly as her finger tips once more spiked with green sparks.

“Wait. _Don’t!_ ”

But Dean’s pained gasp was cut short as the witch’s hand connected with the brand.

Sam watched with horror as the skin beneath his brother’s back lit up once more with this time, to him, unknown fluorescently glowing bright orange sigils. Dean screamed with pain… but his agonised cry was being almost immediately drowned by the howl that burst from Mary…

… as her whole arm suddenly burst into flames of mixed green and orange, the colours spitting and fighting for dominance, igniting her thin, blue-veined flesh in the process and filling the now half destroyed house with the acrid stench of burning flesh.

The witch scrambled backwards, desperate to try and douse the blaze, which had now also caught her sleeve alight… and then the whole top half of her long dress, and then her hair, surrounding her head in an inferno of her own spitting and sparking magic. Mary screeched hysterically and batted despairingly at her face in a last-ditch attempt to stop the flames, turning as if she would run back into her own intangible cottage.

But instead she found herself coming face to face with Sam. Who was absolutely furious at her for _daring_ to touch his brother.

And who had finally managed to get to his gun…

The witch fell down dead as the entire magazine was emptied into her head as point blank range: the flames immediately consuming her body in its entirety as the magic inside her ran rampant, destroying her remains in a matter of moments.

The young man watched dispassionately as she burned. Anna was also staring in abject horror at the sight, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly without making a single sound. Then they were both startling at a sudden noise and turning to see… the door to the cabin… hut… cottage… whatever the witch had called home… slamming shut seemingly on its own, the edges of where it had been blending instantly into the surrounding air to leave no sign that it was ever there at all.

“I’m sorry.”

But whether Mrs Garcia was apologising to Mary, to the brothers… or to somebody still inside the other dimension who might or might not have just closed the door… Sam wasn’t sure.

And he cared even less. “Dean?”

He wasn’t moving.

Sam was immediately by his side, reaching to check his brother’s breathing. “ _Dean!_ ”

“Is he alright? What is… was that thing on his back?” Anna was kneeling beside him, wincing at the sight of the now scorched and defaced brand that was still smouldering, emitting infrequent puffs of wispy smoke: the man’s skin burnt and bleeding weepily around it.

The young man ignored her as he pulled Dean into his arms, wrapping his own tightly around him and choking back a sob as he felt the other’s heart beating against his own chest. “He’s just unconscious. Help me get him to the car.”

He handed Anna the keys before hoisting his brother over his shoulders in a fireman’s lift and carrying him out to the Impala. The woman helped him gently place Dean into the rear, laying him out on the long seat, and returning his suit jacket to cover him with. They were both relieved when he groaned slightly and opened his eyes enough to reveal his somewhat dazed looking spring-green irises: “Did we win?”

Sam grinned at him, afraid of revealing his true feelings with Anna still beside them but knowing that his brother was aware of them anyway. “Yup. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

“M’fine. Motel’s good… Just need a rest.” And he was closing his eyes again.

The younger man hurried to obey, knowing that he had to take the woman home before he could see to his brother properly.

Neither he nor Mrs Garcia spoke a word as they drove back to the area of Norfolk that she lived. Eventually Sam felt he had to break the silence: “It’s over now, Anna. You’ve had your revenge. Let it go: live at peace.”

She remained quiet beside him, watching the road as he drove the Impala smoothly along… then, as they passed the end of a street her attention was caught by a mail van: the mail van, she hoped, that was taking the package that she had mailed earlier… the one addressed to route to Sacramento, California.

The parcel containing one last hex bag.

“Yes,” she slowly agreed. “It’s finally over.”

Sam had to help his brother back into the room when they returned to the motel. He could see Dean struggling to hold back tears of pain from the burning in his spine where the brand had been defaced. “That must be pretty strong mojo they put in that thing…”

The older man grunted but otherwise made no response as he struggled towards the nearest bed and all but collapsed on to it face first. “Shit. That fucking _kills_.”

“Let me see,” and Sam was climbing on the covers beside him, pulling off Dean’s boots for him as he did and reaching to help him remove his bloodied and torn shirt, so that he could see how badly the other had been hurt. The brand was still smoking. And the skin around where it had been split was still a vivid angry bloody red that was still weeping a little.  “Let me find something to clean it with…”

He was as gentle as possible as he wiped off the sticky residue and carefully massaged in soothing antiseptic ointment ready to bandage the older man up, trying to ignore the way Dean’s muscles moved beneath his strong fingers as he did, and how… amazing… the warm firm, albeit scarred, skin looked…

And felt…

And his brother seemed to be enjoying it too, if the way he was beginning to moan slightly and relax into Sam’s hands as they moved across his back… and sides… and slowly… delicately slipped slightly into the gap between the belted denims… to almost reach where the soft swell of Dean’s ass began…

“Saaammm…” But there was no grumble in the tone. In fact, the depth that the gravelly voice managed to hit, caused the younger man’s arousal to spike inversely… oh _god_ , he wanted Dean so much…

But.

“I should…er…” Sam hated himself even as he forced his body to get off the bed and instead settle on the small couch across the room, wincing at the now painful tightness of his pants as he did. “I don’t want you to think that I…

I would never…

I _mean_ that.” And he was on the move again, this time heading for the bathroom and yet another shower.

“Sammy? The younger man paused and turned to find that Dean had twisted onto his side and was laying on the bed watching him, an expression of simple curiosity on his face.

Sam felt every last bit of moisture drain from his mouth as he took in the whole image of his brother lying lazily topless on the bed, his suit pants showing off the lean muscled form, green eyes fixed onto his own, soft lips slightly parted. “Yeah, Dean?”

Jesus, his voice had come out as barely a croak.

Sam felt his face flush with embarrassment… and the entire rest of his body flush as well, but for a different reason. Then he was trying to back away as the older man suddenly got off the bed and was approaching him with the artless prowl that he had had innately all his life and that every single large feline predator in the entire _world_ would be immediately envious of. “Dean?”

God, even _he_ had barely heard that, his lips were suddenly so dry.

But then they were suddenly being covered by Dean’s as his brother reached up enough on his toes to join their mouths together, parting his own lips in open invitation for Sam’s tongue… and the younger man _couldn’t_ resist: kissing back with everything he had, putting his hands on either side of the other’s face as he leant down to try and taste even more of the amazing flavour that was Dean Winchester.

It was, as it had always been, _him_ who had to come up for air first.

“Dean?” As he gasped for breath and wished that he hadn’t had to pause for something so mundane… “What happened to taking it ‘one day at a time’? Not that I’m complaining!”

But then Sam was falling silent at the look in his brother’s eyes. They were sad, and lustful, and full of pain, and just so…

“I’m _tired_ , Sammy. I’m so tired of it _all._ I nearly died today. Again.

And I’m so tired of being this, of having to _be_ … this. I want this to be _done_ , Sam.

I just want it to all be done.

And I’m tired of trying to fight how I feel about you. So maybe… _probably_ … tomorrow, you won’t want me anymore… but why am I caring about ‘one day’? I often have enough trouble just getting through the fucking day we happen to be in at the minute…

So… please can I have this…? _Please_ , Sammy.”

He was going to his knees. Right in front of the younger man where he was backed up against the wall and reaching for the buttons of his pants. And beginning to undo them to get to what was beneath.

“Dean, you don’t have to do this…” The back of Sam’s head hit the wall as he tried to focus on his thoughts… and his concern that his brother was doing this because he felt he _had_ to… and not give in to his overwhelming urge of simply following the other man to the floor, just as he so obviously had done _numerous_ times when he was soulless, and fucking _both_ their brains out!

“I want to, Sammy. Really I do.” And all of Sam’s self-inflicted forced objections were forgotten as he felt his cock being sucked into the deep, moist, warm perfection that was his brother’s mouth. And it was every bit as incredible as he remembered.

He only wished he could have lasted longer before he was coming explosively down Dean’s throat, and then just about collapsed where he stood, eyes closing and his long legs giving way until he was sliding physically down the wall to end up all but sitting on the slave’s knees where he still knelt at his master’s feet. “God, Dean: you really have no idea what you do to me…”

He felt the warmth of breath across his face as the older man leant forward to join their lips together once more, Sam eagerly licking away the taste of himself to once again get to the natural essence of his brother.

But then Dean was pulling back a little: “Will you hold me, Sammy?”

“Is that okay to, Dean? I…”

“I do like it when you do.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Sam struggled up to stand shakily on his feet, leaning down to help Dean up and leading him back to the bed where they both settled beneath the covers, the younger man also removing his boots and shirts before wrapping his strong arms around his willing brother and pulling him back against his chest in a secure embrace.

They lay together in silence for a long time, enjoying the peace of just being with each other.

Sam didn’t want to break it… but… he still had so much to say to his brother. If only he could think of how…

And then, perhaps he knew…

“Dean… just… keep your eyes closed.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. And just… listen… Please.”

Dean wondered but obeyed, listening He felt a tremor run through his body as he waited, aware that Sam was moving impossibly closer on the bed, his arms somehow tightening even more around him. Then the warm breath of Sam’s mouth pressed right against his ear as he spoke made the older man shiver slightly… and his brother clasped him even _tighter_. “Dean? Do you remember when we were both taken to heaven together? Those images? Those memories?”

Of _course_ Dean remembered them. It had hurt so much, seeing indisputable proof that Sam had never wanted him, had always been desperate to get away from him. His brother’s happiest memories, every single _one_ of them _,_ had all been to do with escaping his life with Dean as fast as he could. His shoulders sagged and tears sprang to his eyes, he couldn’t help it: despite _everything_ , Sam was going to leave him, or more probably, sell him. He knew he should have been expecting it, hell, he was _always_ expecting it… but…

No matter what had happened between them in the past, he would have followed his baby brother anywhere. Then Sam was speaking again, and his voice gave away _his_ tears as well.

“I tried to tell you then that those memories weren’t right. That that bastard angel Zachariah had manipulated them deliberately to hurt you, and he really succeeded, didn’t he? He hurt you so much! But I should have fought harder for you then: I should have got you to _see_.”

He was holding Dean so close now that they might as well have been sharing the same body: the older man could feel his brother’s soft, long hair tickling against his face as he twisted slightly in Sam’s arms to try and respond. “Sammy?”

“No, don’t open your eyes, keep them shut. Just listen. _Please_. Just listen to me.” And Dean nodded, lay back as he had been, and kept his eyes closed.

“I should have told you: _convinced_ you. _Somehow_. That my best ever, most _happiest_ memory? And no, it isn’t of Jess. It’s _you_.

 _Really_.

And I know it sounds perverse, but… truly, Dean… it was just after you had killed Drayton and we spent the night in the Impala. And I had been shot, and you were _so_ badly hurt; battered and bleeding from what all those men had done to you…and you wanted _me_. Not just giving yourself to me because you had to…or letting me do whatever because… but you _reached_ for me, Dean. Do you remember? You pulled me to you because you wanted my arms, and my lips, and my body on yours. And when you looked at me, the _way_ you looked at me: I knew. I _knew_ that I wasn’t forcing you, and you weren’t just _giving_ yourself to me, but… you _wanted_ me.

For the first time, I _knew_ that you wanted me, big brother.

And I have _always_ wanted you so much.

And that...” Dean felt the breeze of warm amusement snorted against his head and he could immediately see the image in his mind of his brother’s wry grin and dimples… “ _that_ _is_ my happiest memory. Seriously, Dean. Squashed together in the rear of that car, knowing that you _loved_ me. I would spend the rest of eternity in that moment if I could: when I made love to you and knew for sure that you genuinely _wanted_ me to…

That was so amazing, Dean. That will always be my most treasured…

The memory that I _always_ run to even when everything else is going to shit.

It’s _always_ been you.”

They fell silent once more, breathing as one. Sam couldn’t help himself from feeling tense: he was desperate to ask the older man’s thoughts…

… but was terrified of knowing them as well.

This time it was Dean who broke the silence.

“What was the second?”

“What?”

“The second best memory? It better had involved me as well!”

Relief washed over Sam. He grinned, dimples going deep that they almost hurt his cheeks, and buried his nose into Dean’s short hair: “Oh yeah, _definitely!_ Wanna know…?”

He felt the other’s head nod against his skin.

“It was when _you_ first took _me!”_

Despite himself, Dean snorted. “You had to tell me what to do… and _you_ didn’t really know _either!”_ He paused: “I’m better taking the lead with women: I had lots of practice with the girls at all the schools…and when I was finally old enough for the women in the AE to begin to take an interest… _they_ weren’t interested in a little boy, well, not full on sex anyway: not until I was bigger… but once they _were_ , they were perfectly happy for me to… erm… show off what I could do… just as long as they got their satisfaction…

And I’m pretty sure they were always _satisfied!_

None of the men have _ever_ wanted me to take the lead. They all want immediate and total obedience: that’s why I’m…” His voice trailed off, but Sam knew exactly what he was referring to.

He could vividly recall how incredulous he had first been at just how his usually confidently loud, brash, and generally _obnoxious_ big brother seemed to change every night once ‘bedtime’ had begun to take on a new meaning for the two of them. It was as if a switch had been turned on inside him… or more accurately, _off_ … and Dean would become completely submissive. _Completely_ submissive.

And, as much as Sam enjoyed being dominant in the bedroom , he also yearned to be _dominated_ … in the way he _knew_ that Dean _could_. Hell, if it came to a fight they both knew that the older man was likely to pin him to the ground nine times out of ten! Dean could _wreck_ Sam if he wanted to… and, in the pre-Ruby and being dragged down to hell days, the younger man had tried to encourage him to.

But it had taken a _lot_ of encouragement. And some pleading. And a little begging. And then, more often than not to Sam’s chagrin… he would end up having to order Dean to _do_ it to him.

But, oh God, Sam had enjoyed it when the older man actually did! He had _loved_ being spread out on a bed beneath the muscled body of his big brother.

“Only you!” He blurted the words out suddenly, causing Dean to startle a little as he leant back against the younger man’s chest. “There’s only _eve_ r been you that I’ve let… only you that I’ll ever _want_ to! At least in Hell… no matter what’s happened down there, it hasn’t been to my body. That’s _yours_ : it’s _always_ been yours! Always _will_ be!”

There was a momentary pause in the room as Dean considered. Then, when it came, his question was hesitant, almost shy as he spoke:  “You mean that, Sammy? I’m the only one who’s… ever fucked you?”

“Only you, Dean. Only _ever_ will be you.  And… if you ever want to again… I’d love you to. Oh God, I’d let you do _anything_ to me…

Anything you want. As long as you really do want…

I’m just sorry if I’m pushing too much…“

There was another brief silence. Broken again by the slave as he suddenly twisted his body around in Sam’s tight embrace, wriggling to turn how he lay on the bed until he was facing his master: reaching  with his own arms to wrap them around the younger man’s neck; joining their mouths together with the same enthusiasm as if he were starving and his brother was a bacon cheese burger; and pulling slightly… deliberately… definitely…until Sam was rolling over and onto him, Dean’s legs spreading automatically to give the larger man’s body room.

The younger man caught himself enough to rest up on his elbows momentarily: “Dean? You sure?  I mean, I… You can do it to _me_ …”

But a glance at the way the older man started to slightly chew at his lower lip had him pausing with a sigh: “Have I been getting _that_ wrong as well?”

“No. _No_ , I… enjoy it, Sam.”

“You don’t sound sure…”

Then the older man was blushing again. “It’s just… It just don’t feel natural to me to be like that with a man, Sammy. I’ve never been allowed before you, and… It’s _different_ with a woman. But it did feel good when you let me, and I’m glad that you enjoy it… You do enjoy it, don’t you?” And he was biting physically into his lip enough now to draw blood.

Sam hastened to reassure him: “Very much, Dean. Really! But….” He sighed again, _loudly_. “I really wish you’d just _talk_ to me… Just once without me having to push for you to. Or order you to. Just to talk to me as my brother…”

“I’ll try, master.”

“ _Dean!”_ But Sam’s bitch-face faded as rapidly as it had appeared as he suddenly registered the mischievous twinkle in his brother’s green eyes. “Oh for…!  Just when I think I’m finally beginning to understand you…”

“Will you make love to me, Sam?”

The younger man caught his breath and looked down at Dean, who now seemed to be completely serious and was worrying at the blood-stained inside of his mouth once more. “You mean it? You…?”

But his words were taken from his lips even before they were uttered by the simple but effective means of the older man arching the upper half of his body off the bed enough to wrap his arms around Sam’s neck and use his incredibly muscled torso as a solid support while he all but attacked his brother’s mouth with his own, pressing his own naked chest to his brother’s… “I _want_ , Sam. I want this: I want you.”

“I have to ask, Dean… are you sure?”

But his last gasped enquiry was smothered by Dean’s kisses, and Sam was now done with worrying as he was pulled fully down onto the bed… and right onto his willing brother.

Now all that mattered was finishing removing both their clothes… and exploring every inch of the perfect body that he had longed for, for so long, with his hands… and lips… and tongue. And having his _own_ teased almost beyond his endurance by an _expert_ in sex.

Oh _God_ , Sam remembered how good Dean was in bed. He had been telling the truth when he had stated he would happily spend eternity stuck in the memories of them being together. And, when he finally considered his brother to be prepared enough… because he knew that Dean was so used to being… well, _used_ … that he wouldn’t object if he was or wasn’t fingered open enough to make being fucked pleasurable rather than painful and bloody, or even whether lubricant was used or not… and pushed himself into him: moaning into each other’s mouths at the ecstasy of finally being together in every way again…

And when Dean arched below him as Sam found that perfect spot, and intentionally _pounded_ it until the older man was calling out his name as a chant until his voice gave out as he came, followed almost immediately by the younger man who all but collapsed on top of him in a blissed out heap…

… Sam felt… for the first time in far too long… that he had finally come _home_.


	15. The Night of the AE - Part One

Sam gripped the headboard so tightly that his knuckles went white and pushed back against it to deliberately grind his ass against the man knelt behind him with all the strength… and seductiveness… that he could manage.

“Come on, Dean. I won’t break! Come on, _fuck_ me!”

He bit his lip and tried to hide his slight irritation at the… yet again… hint of hesitation in the other man’s voice as he responded: “Are you sure, Sammy? I don’t want to hurt you…”

“Dean, you’ve spent over an hour getting me ready. Well, I’m _ready!_ You’ve touched and kissed every inch of me at least three times: do you have any idea of how _hard_ I am? It hurts! And that’s despite already coming twice!  I want you inside me. I _need_ you inside me. _Please!_ I want you to do this… and _hard:_ I want to _feel_ you! I want you to be the only thing I can think about for a week at _least!”_

Then the sudden warmth of Dean’s palms as they each curved around a half of his chiselled ass, the calloused but gentle fingers grazing around the edges of his hips as strong thumbs finally pulled his cheeks apart enough to let the older man finally, and carefully… oh, so carefully… push himself inside had Sam sighing with relief.

But his brother was also sighing, for a different reason: “Is this because of Samuel? Blotting everything out? You _had_ to kill him, Sammy: you had no choice! I know you were hoping he would tell you about the months you can’t remember, but…”

“Yeah, I was hoping, Dean. But this isn’t about him. _Really_. This is about me needing you. Needing _this_.” And he was pushing back against his brother again, trying to encourage the other man to thrust his hips forward and keep doing so as hard as he could...

But he was still fighting Dean’s lifetime-instilled anxiety about hurting him. He had forgotten how difficult it was to convince his brother that this was something that… actually, Sam really, _really_ loved!

He had from that very first time all those years ago that he had admitted his true feelings towards Dean. It had been right after Madison’s death: he had been upset from both the comparisons with his own situation at the time, the fact that the two of them individually had been forced by events completely out of their control into being something that neither would _ever_ have wanted to be, and from having been forced to kill the beautiful woman who he had genuinely liked a lot.

Dean had reached to comfort him… and suddenly Sam had just had enough. Enough of trying to pretend that he didn’t _really_ have far too strong feelings for the man that he had always thought of as his big brother. Enough of trying to resist that handsome face with those perfect lips and amazing green eyes. _And_ that smile which, now Sam came to think about it he hadn’t seen for so long on his brother’s face, but used to light up the whole room… as well as the younger man’s heart, soul, and entire being.

Dean had reached out his arms… and Sam had just had enough of _lying_ to himself. Because the truth was that he was head over heels in love with Dean. He had _always_ been in love with him. Dean had reached to him and he had just got so _tired_ of trying to pretend he wasn’t.

So he had reached _back_ to his brother.

But because Sam hadn’t wanted Dean to feel forced in any way… or even worse, feel as he was being ordered… he had asked the older man to fuck _him_ instead. To his brother’s immediate surprise and instant reason to worry.

And much to _Sam’s_ surprise… he had discovered that he _loved_ being the bottom. Only for his brother of course, he would _never_ do it for anyone else. He would never want to have sex with any other man, _period_. But every single time he had asked… or begged… or occasionally ordered… it had taken some convincing for Dean to do it to him.

And he obviously _still_ hadn’t lost his concern that Sam wasn’t just forcing himself to take it so that Dean didn’t have to. How could the younger brother reassure him that he wanted to be fucked as his preference? Because he really enjoyed it. He enjoyed it _immensely!_

He was suddenly on the move, pulling away and getting up from where he was kneeling on the mattress in front of Dean and instead turning to reach with his hands and physically manoeuvre the older man down onto his back: smiling despite himself as,  as usual when it came to the bedroom department, Dean allowed himself to be manipulated and moved without the slightest objection or complaint.

It was automatic for the slave to allow his legs to spread apart even as Sam moved to once again join him on the bed. But then his eyes were opening even wider from surprise as instead of laying between them, the younger man simply pushed his thighs back together before climbing over them until he was straddling his brother with his own long legs, leaning forward as he did to support himself with his hands while his own lips sought out the other’s perfect lips with his own. “I _was_ hoping that Samuel would tell me, Dean. And I was half _terrified_ : what else have I _done?_ But… this… seriously… this is about me being desperate for you to work your magic like I know you can…”

Then Sam was breaking away from the passionate kiss to sit back on his knees, reaching behind him as he did to take hold of Dean’s cock and hold it steady as he lowered himself back onto it. The younger man’s eyes all but rolled back into his head with pleasure as he arched his torso, leaning right back and pushing his whole weight down until his ass was against the other’s warm skin, feeling his brother’s long inches push all the way inside him.

This was what he wanted. This felt _incredible_. Sam moaned with pleasure and began to move as _he_ wanted to move… hands resting on the older man’s chest for support as he used the hard-worked-for strength in his thighs to ride Dean hard. He wanted to feel this for _days_.

Dean placed his hands on Sam’s hips for support as he watched his little brother’s expressions… and listened to the exquisite noises he was making… with increasing incredulity. “You really _do_ like this, don’t you, Sammy.”

“Oh God, Dean, _yes!_ ” The words came out as a long hoarse moan. “I never thought I would. Never even wanted to. And you’re right: I originally let you fuck me because I love you, and I didn’t want you to feel forced to do anything… But…

Oh _God_ , Dean, I _love_ this! It feels incredible when you’re inside me. You can do this to me anytime you want… Oh, _fuck!_ ” And Sam was moving his hands to rest behind him on his brother’s amazingly strong thighs instead as he arched his back to adjust himself to just the perfect angle…

… but then he was squeaking with surprise as Dean suddenly sat up beneath him to reach round with his arms, and gathered him up as he stood to pick the younger man up physically as easily as if he were still the child that the bigger brother had carried and taken care of for so long, before easily turning them both around to deposit Sam on _his_ back on the bed this time and climbing on the mattress behind him without losing even an _inch_ of contact where it mattered…

“Manly… not!” Dean commented even as he shouldered his way beneath Sam’s endlessly long legs until they were either side of his neck and the younger man’s body was all but doubled beneath him.

Sam gasped, both from the suddenness of the movement _and_ the promise that it meant… “You startled me… _jerk_.”

Dean leant forward briefly to kiss him, conscious that he might be putting too much pressure on his brother’s body as he did: “Does this mean I get to call you my bitch?”

The younger man wrapped his arms around his neck as well, luxuriating in the touch of Dean’s soft hair against all four of his limbs, and the feel of his lips against his own, and opened his mouth, willing to give _everything_ to his brother. “You can call me anything as long as you fuck me. Now get on with it!”

The older man snorted but obeyed, placing his hands either side of Sam’s head and raising himself up on his forearms. Then there was no need for any more words… not that the young man could have managed any at all, as Dean, now finally believing him that this was what he truly _wanted_ , proceeded simply to reduce him to a quivering, jabbering absolutely fucked-out wreck.

And once Sam was sated, it was all he could do to keep his limbs wrapped around his brother and just hold on while Dean finally took his own pleasure before carefully collapsing on top of him in a sweaty, exhausted heap.

They lay in contented silence for a while. Sam felt around the somewhat messed-up bed with his hand as he felt his brother begin to shiver and managed to catch enough of the covers to draw them up over them both.

Then he was wincing a little as Dean climbed off his body and instead moved to lie beside him, content to accept the younger man’s embrace as Sam immediately twisted enough to pull him back into his arms, encouraging the other to rest his head against the top of his sculptured chest, close enough that he could press his lips into the soft hair that tickled against his neck… 

“That okay?” Dean sounded half asleep already: his voice was just a mumble against Sam’s warm flesh.

“That… Was _amazing_.”

“So… if it wasn’t about Samuel… What _was_ it about, Sammy?”

Sam couldn’t help but sigh: Dean really _did_ know him. Nobody else ever could. Not like his brother. “I…”

The older man tilted his head slightly, enough that he could watch his little brother’s face. “You said you want to feel me for a week. Why do you want to do that…?” Then, as Sam couldn’t help himself from blushing, Dean was suddenly understanding… “This is _still_ about that damn _actress,_ isn’t it? That one who played Ruby in that weird world where we were a show on TV.

I _told_ you I didn’t mind about you sleeping with her, Sammy. I minded about you having sex with the _real_ Ruby, not the fake one! And… it’s not as if I can be faithful to _you_ : I’m certainly not going to upset about you being with someone else…”

“ _I_ mind, Dean.” Sam couldn’t help himself: “I feel I let you down. I know what you _have_ to do, but I wanted you to least know that _I_ wouldn’t… Not with anybody else. I want to be yours and yours alone…”

“It don’t matter, Sammy.”

“It _does_ matter, Dean! It does to me!”

“But why…?”

“Because…” Sam had now turned enough to be able to stare directly into the green eyes as Dean watched him: the younger man’s arms still tight around his brother’s body keeping them both pressed together, and _far_ too aware of the other’s fingers gently ghosting over his nipple as his brother casually moved his hand across Sam’s chest for somebody who had already come three times that evening should have _any_ capability to have… “Because it’s made me feel that I’ve been… unfaithful to you. And I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I want you to erase any trace of that woman on me: I know she _wasn’t_ Ruby but… _please_ Dean, I just want to feel I’m yours and yours only again.”

There. He had said it.

Dean’s eyebrows rose as he tried to make sense of his little brother’s sensibilities, and failed miserably: “I don’t mind who you sleep with, Sammy. And you certainly don’t have to feel you’ve got to only be with me…”

“I do, Dean. I _do_. Don’t you get it?”

“No.”

Sam stared into the now definitely confused green eyes and floundered for how to explain, then his next words suddenly burst out from the depth of his soul to take even _him_ by surprise: “I _know_ you can’t be faithful to me Dean, and I would never ask you to be. Not only because of… well, what you are, but because… well, you’re _you!_

But I want to be faithful to _you_ … I _have_ to be because… well…

…because that’s how you brought me up to be. _You_ brought me up to be _better_ than that!”

There was a long moment of silence.

 Sam bit his lip slightly, wondering if he had just said the wrong thing completely.

But then Dean was tilting his neck a little more and stretching up a little more, and moving his body up over his brother’s slightly until he could meet the younger man’s lips once again… and kissing him with such a gentle, soft… strangely innocent… passion that Sam felt the excitement of a very first kiss all over again.

And it was one of the most perfect ones that he had ever had…

“I love you, Dean.”

His brother smiled at him even as he was settling back down to sleep once more: laying his head against the younger man’s chest and neck again and relaxing as Sam’s right arm tightened protectively and instinctively around him, the younger man’s left hand creeping up to cover Dean’s fingers as they once again moved to rest across his torso.

Sam lay idly and watched Dean as slumber took him: he could tell the exact instant it happened as the ever-increasing lines on his brother’s face, forced on him by the pressures of shouldering the weight of an unknowing and ungrateful world, suddenly eased. The younger Winchester couldn’t help from smiling at the sight and gently kissed the top of the other man’s head, nuzzling his lips into the short hair and whispering all the endearments that he knew would never, ever, be believed before settling himself to also sleep.

That had been a wonderful night, he reflected. And the sex had been _incredible_. Sam knew he would be reminded of it for _days_ after….

Which didn’t seem nearly as much amazing the very next afternoon as he tried not to wriggle and squirm in the passenger seat of the Impala after nearly seven hours of being on the road.

Dean glanced across and tried not to smirk. He had been anxious immediately on awakening that morning that he had hurt Sam, then after being repeatedly reassured and, on watching the younger man limping a little as he walked, had instead decided that it was amusing… with his humour seemingly increasing with every passing hour and every new wince caused by the car’s suspension bouncing against what seemed to have been every single pothole on route to Washington.

Sam bit his lip and forced himself not to ask if they… he… could take a break. Or at least find some sort of pillow that he could use to sit on.

“Do you want to lie down in the back? Grab a rest?”

The younger man startled as Dean spoke up suddenly: obviously his attempts to contain his whimpers hadn’t been as effective as he had hoped… “No. No, I’m good. But I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs…” ‘… or going in any other direction but this…’ he silently added to himself.

Or at least he _thought_ he had silently added it to himself.

“I told you, you didn’t have to come.” He sighed as the humour abruptly faded from the older man’s face and Dean’s words came out rather short. “I said I’d meet you after, but I was coming down here no matter what… It was your choice to get in the car!”

Sam sat up straight, momentarily regardless of his own weight on his tender ass. This had been a continuing point of… discussion… since Dean had mentioned it over breakfast. “I know you are… and I’m not complaining about having to come with you. I’m going anywhere you are, you know that: willingly and completely. I’ll be there even if you _don’t_ want me with you, just to make sure you’re okay! I just wish…”

“Don’t say it again, Sammy. I got to, and there’s no choice.”

“I know, Dean.” Sam fell silent, not only to try and stop himself from sounding like a petulant child… but _god_ , he so wanted to scream and yell and throw something… anything… _everything_ … until the whole world left them alone again and he could just hold Dean tightly in his arms and keep him safe… but also so as not to upset his brother. But he really, really _hated_ this.

“I know you do, Sam.” Shit, had he said that aloud as well? “That’s why I suggested you didn’t come along. But I’ve got to be in Washington by tomorrow night or they’ll come and get me anyway…”

“Would that have been so bad? We could have had another day… and night… in that motel. I know you’ve got to go for this… convention, or conference, or soiree or whatever your AE want to call this thing, but at least… I could have looked after you. We could have gone out somewhere for the day: done something special…”

“You’re making it sound like a date, Sammy.”

But Dean’s flippant smile faded as he saw the look of complete seriousness on the younger man’s face: “Would that _really_ be such a terrible idea? How many times have we been mistaken for a couple anyway? We can _be_ that now!”

“You serious, Sam? The whole world thinks of us as brothers: do you really want to explain what we actually are…?”

“I don’t _care_ what the world thinks of us! I want to hold your hand when we walk down the street. I want to take you for a meal in a restaurant and kiss you in public…” His excitement dampened as he took in the wide eyes and horrified expression of the other. “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you? You’d let me do _anything_ to you behind closed doors but if I ever took it outside…”

“Please don’t, Sammy.” His brother's voice was suddenly so hoarse that the whisper was barely audible.

The younger man studied his anxious face and then reached his left hand across the seat. Dean watched it approach his thigh even as he continued to drive… then, with a sudden genuine lift at the edges of his lips, he returned the gesture with his right hand, removing it from the steering wheel so he could meet Sam’s longer fingers with his own.

Sam shifted his position closer, all his discomfort forgotten, until he was able to comfortably cover Dean’s hand with his own and clasp it tight. “Okay,” he smiled back. “Hands held discreetly beneath the tables, kisses only behind closed doors: same old, same old.

But if you ever feel that you _might_ be comfortable with going public… well, I’m up for it, Dean. If there’s only _one_ thing in my life I’m not ashamed of, it’s you!”

He wasn’t surprised that he was seemingly ignored: the older man kept his concentration steadily on the road and didn’t even seem to glance at him… but neither did he try to pull away from Sam’s touch. They drove on in silence for a while.

“So…” Sam couldn’t help but break it: “This conference thing tomorrow? It’s a big deal? This is the night that you were talking about… the one that you’re going to be the ‘guest of honour’ at…?”

“Yeah.”

Sam waited but there was no forthcoming elaboration. He tried again: “So… if they’re going to come and fetch you for it anyway… why are we spending what’s going to be the best part of two days driving there?”

There was another short silence.

“Dean?”

His brother sighed. “ _I’m_ driving to Washington… because otherwise they’d drug me and _fly_ me there… I can still drop you off if you want…”

It was his turn to wait for a response. But Sam was thinking about something that he had remembered. “That bodyguard… Tobias Emerson’s bodyguard… Demetrius, wasn’t it? He said something about you being afraid of flying because of a crash. Were you in a plane crash, Dean?

Dean?”

This time there was a long silence as the other man drove steadily without any sign at all that he had even heard him…

“The prince once told me that you’d been transported in a cage. Were you in a cage that time, Dean? Were you in a cage inside a plane when it crashed…? Or… just travelling…? But it had to do with the AE…? Where did it happen…? Where were they taking you…? I mean…?”

He stared at his brother, afraid to ask more… But…

Eventually Dean responded. He didn’t turn his head. The younger man suddenly was fearful that he was going to withdraw his hand… “Like I said, Sammy. I _don’t_ like flying.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. And turned his attention to stare at the road ahead as well.

But not before he had interlaced his fingers with those of the older man’s… and felt tears prick in his eyes as Dean’s own tightened around them as if he had suddenly been desperate for his younger brother not to ever let go.

In the end they took turns at driving and arrived in Washington the next morning. Sam was relieved: he hurried to find a motel, determined to make his brother rest before… well, whatever was going to happen to him that night. “Bacon cheeseburger?”

Dean glanced up from his position in front of the small television set… which Sam knew he wouldn’t be moving from any time soon because he had found a ‘Dr Sexy’ marathon… and raised his eyebrows at the younger man standing by the door. “You’re not going to bitch at me for having one? Or two?”

“Not today.”

Sam returned with the food as quickly as he could, surprised to find that his brother _had_ moved. The television had been turned off and, instead of being on the couch, he was now standing by one of the beds instead, with most of his belongings scattered across the cover.

 _And_ Sam was surprised on seeing a new and very expensive looking dark-grey suit hanging from the doorframe across the room.

The young man silently moved over to examine it, lifting up the base of the clear protective plastic cover so he could run his slightly work-roughened fingers along the weave of the cloth.

 It was a _very_ expensive suit.

He didn’t know much about tailoring but _this_ was quality: the waistcoat was backed and edged with the green that he innately and instantly associated with his brother, as was the matching silk tie and cufflinks that were sitting in a satin-lined box on the floor beside a pair of polished leather handmade Italian shoes. He didn’t have to ask whether everything was a perfect fit or not.

“No tuxedo this time?”

Dean glanced back from where he was busy rolling and folding the last of his meagre clothing back into his travel bag: “Not that sort of event. This one’s strictly for members only: no… erm… ‘plus ones’. That got dropped off just after you went out.”

Sam nodded, careful to show no emotion at all in his face. “It’ll look amazing on you. I mean, you’ll look amazing in _it_... Did you text them where you were…?”

He waited. And waited some more for the response. Finally he forced himself to look across at the older man, only to find his brother watching him intently, standing as motionless as a statue. Sam sighed as he understood: “They know _exactly_ where you are…”

Dean simply nodded without replying, and returned his attention to picking up everything from the bed, leaving just his toiletries out loose. “I need some more shaving stuff: I’ll have to go and get some after those burgers. Did you think to get some pie as well?”

Despite himself, the younger man broke into a grin. “Yeah. Apple okay?”

His dimples deepened at the sight of the wide beaming smile that he was gifted with as a response, and his sour mood eased enough to begin unpacking the food. “ _I’ll_ go out and get you what you need: you relax while you can…”

“Nah. Won’t take long.”  And Dean was there beside him, carelessly kissing him on the cheek as he reached for the pastried treasure, causing Sam’s cheeks to widen even further.

He reached for his brother, sliding his hands around the denimed waist and using the belt loops to pull him closer, eager to return the loving gesture: “You _sure_ you don’t need a rest?”

Dean allowed himself to be manoeuvred enough that Sam’s arms were all but caging him where he stood, their bodies now pressed together from chests down: the overall intimate effect somewhat spoilt by the older man’s left cheek bulging from where he had already unwrapped the pie and taken a huge bite.

He hastily swallowed it down and instead slid his own now empty hands around his brother’s shoulders to complete the embrace. “Nah…” he stated again even as he tilted his head and began to nuzzle with his teeth into the skin along Sam’s strong jaw, the younger man’s eyes rolling back in his head in response… “But I like what you just said about _relaxing_ …”

“Mmmmm…..”

An hour or so later, a very naked and happily sated Sam propped himself up on his elbows in the bed and watched his brother pull his clothes back on with one hand and eat a now all but cold bacon cheeseburger from the other. “You really are disgusting: it’s a good job I love you.”

Dean chuckled and wandered back across the room to give the grinning younger man yet one more kiss before he pulled his boots back on. “You didn’t think I was disgusting when I was riding you just then…”

“Well,” Sam was already getting aroused again: “It was the only way I could think of to check you were properly prepped for tonight… at least doing it myself, I’d be sure...” He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but reach to try and pull his brother down beside him once more…

“That was the only way, huh?” Dean smirked as he momentarily covered Sam’s body with his own as the younger man’s fingers threaded through his short hair… but then as he felt them tighten, and his brother’s now fully hard erection already pressing against the folds of his shirts, he recovered himself enough to quickly move away from him. “Speaking of getting prepared, Sammy: I just gotta get a few things. Won’t be long.” And he was snagging the other burger from the bag even as he exited the room, pulling the door firmly closed behind him.

Sam sighed and looked around for his own clothes: he knew that his brother would need the full use of the bathroom when he returned so decided to have a quick shower himself while he could.

He had hardly crossed into the small tiled room when he heard the noise from behind him. A rhythmical humming noise that stopped and started as if pulsing for a few seconds at a time… Sam stood confused, and still naked, for a moment and then decided that it sounded like a cell phone vibrating.

But it wasn’t his.

And Dean would have taken _his_ cell with him.

Sam began to search around, trying to find the source of the sound. It seemed louder beside the beds. And then louder again from down on the floor beside the bed that the brothers had just wrecked between them.

Sam picked his bag up and felt the vibrations through the leather of whatever was causing the noise… but he had no other phone in it! He _knew_ he hadn’t, he had been living out of that bag for how long…? He had emptied it and repacked it ready to move on how many times…? There _was_ no cell phone, or anything that could be causing those vibrations in it…

There couldn’t be, he would have seen it.

But his hands could still feel the continual pulse that resonated through the holdall. Sam began to search it yet again, using both hands to dig around amidst his clothes… only to eventually tip everything out haphazardly on the scrumpled and decidedly sticky covers as his frustration grew. Nothing.

Except that the fucking irritating buzzing was still going on. He scrubbed his hands through his long hair: it was as if whatever this fucking thing was, was deliberately doing this to fucking piss him off!

And _boy_ , was it succeeding!

Resisting the urge to simply hurl the bag across the room and hopefully smash whatever it was inside it to pieces, Sam instead picked it up to physically feel around it, hoping at least to pinpoint where…

… and then he felt it. A small, cell phone-sized shape, still incessantly vibrating, somehow inside the skin of the bag itself.

No. Not inside the skin. He had to almost turn the entire thing inside out to see it, but there was a pocket sewn into the lining that he had never noticed before.  A pocket sewn with small exact stitches just like he himself would have done.

He was already tearing into it, snatching out the small buzzing device inside with relief… almost to nearly hurl _it_ across the room to hopefully smash to pieces, as the ringing promptly _stopped_.

 Sam stared at it momentarily with incredulous disbelief before checking to see who it had been: ‘Number withheld’. For… _fuck’s_ …!

There was something else in the hidden pocket as well: something small but metallic, he could see it glinting in the glow of the main light. Sam pulled it out: a small box, like a miniature case that a sim or digital camera card would be kept in, containing what looked at first glance looked like a tiny button but on closer examination, the young man could see all the ingredients of intricate electronic circuitry that go to make up a swallowable GPS tracking device.

Sam stared at it in consternation. Why did he have it? And more importantly… why did he have it _hidden?_

He was interrupted from his increasing anxiety by the door opening and Dean was returning, a bulging carrier bag in his hands. He paused on seeing Sam standing by the bed, still completely naked, holding his empty bag in one hand, something tightly in his other, and all his belongings scattered everywhere. “Something I missed?”

“Nah,” The coincidence of the cell suddenly falling silent just as his brother returned wasn’t lost on the younger man. But… if _he_ had sewn the pocket into the bag and he didn’t remember doing it… then Sam decided that the _last_ thing that Dean needed right at that moment was to worry about something else that the soulless version of him might or might not have done… “Just something lost at the bottom of my bag. Can I go first in the bathroom? I’ll be quick.”

The older man’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded. Sam snatched up some clothes, hiding the cell and tracker beneath them as he hurried across to have a shower. He was determined to make sure that Dean had all the time he needed to get ready: he was all too painfully aware that his brother had taken a serious punishment for the delay he had caused the last time. As much as Sam _hated_ what was going to happen, there was no way that he was going to give the AE any more reason to humiliate or hurt the man he loved so much.

Once dressed, he made up both the beds and simply tried to busy himself on his laptop for the next hour or so, unaware that he was in fact gazing blankly at the same uninteresting page for just about the whole time, just trying to stay out of Dean’s way.

But he couldn’t help but stare as his brother finally finished all his required preparation in the bathroom, and came out to get the suit.

He stayed in the main room as he began to dress, grateful for the extra space: his thoughts focused inwards and concentrated on what would be expected of him that night. Dean was _so_ preoccupied it didn’t even seem to register that, once he removed the towel that he had had loosely wrapped around his waist, he was completely naked…  

Sam felt his mouth watering from start to finish: he was _mesmerised_. He had never realised that watching someone put clothes _on_ could be so erotic. Idly he wondered what the word for the opposite of a striptease was as the older man’s perfect muscled and toned body was, piece by piece, covered in firstly the sheerest silk white shirt, then the tailored suit pants that perfectly emphasised the shape of his ass, followed by the tight-fitting waistcoat that highlighted both the green of his eyes _and_ , once done up, the broad strength of his shoulders…

“You going to help me with the tie?” During the process, Dean had slowly become aware of how intently his actions were being scrutinised.

Sam swallowed audibly, and sighed loudly at the smirk on his brother’s face: “When this is over, you’re going to both dress, _and_ undress for me, every single night!”

“I can’t help that I’m awesome. Now come and do this tie!”

The younger man smiled even as he was obeying, adjusting himself as he got up from the small couch to cross to where Dean was waiting with the green silk in his hand. Sam took it even as he slipped one arm around the other’s waist, pulling him close while he crushed their lips together: “How about I use this to tie you up with…?”

But his arousal dampened somewhat as he felt Dean sag a little against him. “I think that’s probably gonna be the idea behind me wearing it tonight…“

Sam paused momentarily… then tightened both arms around his brother and kissed him simply on the top of his still damp short hair. “Let’s finish getting you ready.”

But neither of them moved from the embrace for a long moment.

Dean had just slipped his feet into the polished shoes when there was a knock at the door.

Sam went to answer it, unsurprised to see a nondescript man with not much hair and in a dark suit standing outside, and a large SUV complete with men in black uniforms behind him in the parking lot. He fought down every other instinctive reaction to try and give the impression that he was calm and in control as he stood back to let the newcomer into the room. “Dean suggested we wait with the cufflinks in case you…”

His words trailed off as he noticed the case that the man was carrying: he knew what would be inside even as the other went to open it. “That was sensible: yes, we will fit these first…”

But instead of the precious gem studded neck and wrist collars that Sam had been expecting to see as the case was opened, these ones were much plainer: made from a silvery-coloured metal, shaped to be comfortable with padding on the inside, and, instead of being adorned with brilliant green diamonds and emeralds, each had only one noticeable, and definite marking…

The stylish emblem of the AE, proudly embossed and gleaming prominently.

“Rhodium on platinum.” The man informed the brothers. “Nothing gaudy like certain ‘royals’ are partial to… Now, Dean, if you wouldn’t mind.” And the slave was sighing, but lowering his head enough for the neck collar to be fitted, the man running his fingers around the edges as he locked them together to make sure that no skin had been pinched.

The manacles were similarly sealed with the same care and consideration… and the dark-suited man was retrieving something else from the case: another curved and decorated strip of metal that seemed slightly smaller in circumference than the tight-fitting wrist bands. Sam frowned as he wondered momentarily what it was, but then Dean was immediately reaching to take it in his own hand: “I’ll fit this myself if you don’t mind…”

“Of course….”

It was only as his brother began to undo the suit pants again that Sam realised. “Let me.”

And Dean was glancing up at him but relinquishing the cock ring as instructed without argument, simply turning away from the man in the suit enough to give himself a little privacy. He stared studiously over Sam’s shoulder as the younger man’s hands slid inside his loosened pants to fasten it. “I _noticed_ they didn’t bring you any underwear…”

The older man grunted: “Not as if I’m going to need it.”

 He glanced back down at himself as Sam deftly locked the tight band around the base of his definitely uninterested cock and handed the small key back to the other suited man in the room, still with one hand loosely resting on his brother’s hips: “You better not lose this. I want him back still able to use it!”

“He will be,” the other’s eyes were actually genuinely kind, “But for tonight he’s the property of the AE. As per your agreement, Mr Winchester.”

Dean watched as the slight smile was wiped instantly from his brother’s face and the guilty expression that he had noticed earlier as he had re-entered the motel room returned. Momentarily he wondered if he should be worried, but then Sam was looking down at him and the puppy-dog-anxious eyes were meeting his own…

… and then it was the younger man’s turn to wonder as Dean suddenly surged up on his toes to clash their mouths together with such a sudden violent passion that all he could do was tighten his arms around him and hold on.

He felt Dean pour everything into that kiss: all his shame, and desperation, and fear, and self-loathing, and _anger_ … anger at being so unable to control _anything_ about his life… and love. He poured his love for Sam into that kiss, and his deep regret that he would _never_ be able to be what his brother wanted…

And Sam kissed him back, trying his hardest to tell Dean that he was already _everything_ that he could ever want.

He had his hand around the back of the older man’s head when they finally broke for air. He kept a firm but gentle hold on Dean and moved to rest their foreheads together, feeling the long lashes of his brother waft against his nose as he did. “It’s going to be okay, Dean,” Sam whispered. “I’m going to be here when this is over. I’m _always_ going to be here: no matter what the future throws at us, there’s nothing that will ever get between us again…

Nothing.”

“Okay, Sammy.” And Dean was taking a step away from him: the sudden momentary rush of emotions returning to being under control as if it had never been lost, and wearing once more his usual self-controlled aura of confidence.

He didn’t look back again as he reached for both his jacket and the small box with the cufflinks. “C’mon Chuckles, let’s go!”

Despite himself the dark-suited nondescript man lived up to his new nickname, chortling softly as he led the way out of the door. “Goodbye, Mr Winchester.”

“See you later, Sam.” The words were thrown back over his shoulder as Dean walked without hesitation to the SUV and one of the uniformed men waiting for him by the open rear door, and got in.

And then he was gone.

Sam watched the vehicle drive away. Then, with a deep sigh, he returned into the motel room and closed the door. The room felt so empty suddenly.

 _He_ felt so empty.

He sat down on the nearest bed, put his head in his hands, and just… did nothing for a moment. Sam didn’t know _what_ to do.

 So he didn’t.

His sombre mood was disturbed abruptly by a loud thumping noise at the door. Sam startled: he hadn’t heard an engine or footsteps or _anything_ through his despondency. Snatching his gun out of the back of his pants, he headed across the room to look through the peephole.

And then he was hastily hiding it again and opening the door in surprise, only to step back in a hurry as a very angry Ford was pushing past him, his dark eyes ablaze with fury…

“What the hell, Sam? Why have you been ignoring my texts, and my call earlier? For God’s sake, you know how dangerous this is for Dean! What the _fuck_ are you thinking?!”

“I…” But his necessary hesitation at not being able to answer was ignored as the FBVS agent continued to rant…

“This is your idea! You came to _us_ to tell us about this important night…. When everybody who’s _anybody_ in the AE is going to be there…! Why the _hell_ have you not been answering? We need to have made arrangements! We need to know how to get Dean _out_ of there safely!”

He finally seemed to register the almost grey sheen that was now covering Sam’s face: “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

“No, I… I… erm… you’re right: I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well… What… arrangements?”

But if anything, this only seemed to ignite Ford to more anger: “ _You’re_ not well… I always _thought_ you were a cold bastard: just another fucking slave owner, _despite_ your declared affection for your ‘brother’. Please tell me you at least slipped him the tracker. _Please_ tell me you at least did that!”

“The… _tracker_ …?”

The other man stared at him incredulously, momentarily silent and open-mouthed. Then… “Jesus- _fuck_ , Sam.

_Jesus!_

You said you would do it! You laughed when I gave it to you! Said you’d push it into his mouth alongside your cock and force him to swallow them both! You… bastard, you don’t give a _shit_ about him!”

“I do, I do, Ford. I swear. I just…” Sam did the only thing he _could_ do. He told the truth… sort of. “Look, I know what you think about me. I know you hate slavery and the owners, but… I _do_ love Dean. With every single tiny piece of me. But I _have_ been ill. _Really_.

And apparently it’s affected my memory. And my attitude. I’ve been told I haven’t been too… nice… while I’ve been ill…

So please, _please_ , tell me…

 _Tell_ me, Ford.

What have I done?”

There was a long silence in the room while both men stared at each other. Then the FBVS agent threw up his arms, his handsome dark Latino looks marred by the depth of his frown as he sat down on one of the beds.

“I want to get the AE. You know I do. They own thousands of slaves: use them as prostitutes; for drug trafficking; for all _sorts_ of things. They don’t stand a chance of a decent life. And your ‘brother’ is the only one who could possibly take them down. If we could get him to testify against them…” He paused: “He’s certainly the only one who could tell us for definite when they were meeting, this is the best chance we’re probably ever going to have: they’re so fucking secretive…

He told you because of your ‘deals’… Yeah, I _know_ about them, Sam, so don’t you pretend to me that you give a shit… he told you, because no matter what you were hunting, he _had_ to keep this evening free.

And you saw a way to get back at them for… I don’t know what they’d done, but you were _pissed_ when you came to me. You called me and said that you’d help me get them: said you’d wipe that smirk off that smug little royal bastard’s face. And Dean had told you about this important evening, and you came to me.

 _You_ came to _me_ , Sam.” The accusation hung in the young man’s ears. But Ford was still talking…

“Told me that you’d get me what I needed: when, where… the _arrangements_ … so we could go in and get them all. Every last one.”

“So… the cell? And the tracker?”

“You… _said_ , you arrogant bastard, that you’d order Dean to help us. _Make_ him do as he’s told. But this is Dean: he _knows_ these people. He _knows_ how dangerous they are. He’d never risk yours or your uncle’s life going against them: even a sick son-of-a bitch like _you_ finally had to admit that your brother would never do that just because you _told_ him to. And if he knew that you and I had even been _talking,_ then...”

“He’ll be furious.” Sam sat slowly down on the other bed, opposite the agent. “He’ll be absolutely gutted that I’ve gone behind his back…”

 “So we kept it from him.” Ford nodded. “We did indeed. And from everyone else. I don’t know _who_ I can trust: who I can’t. The AE are so powerful: they have their men everywhere.  I know that his tracker… the one in his back… has been on continually since it was reactivated. I lied when I told Dean that it wasn’t: he didn’t need the extra worry on top of everything else…

 But the truth is… I don’t _know_ who’s been getting the signal: I’ve tried to have it turned off, I’ve _tried_ to find out who it’s been going to. He’s been watched every single minute that thing came back on… They’ve known every move he’s made…

So have I, come to that…

We weren’t sure if your usual cells were being tapped so I passed you that one… if you ever bothered to answer it. And of course, Dean couldn’t know about it…

 _You_ were supposed to keep me up to date with the arrangements.  So we could scope the meeting place out: work out the fastest ways in… catch them by surprise.”

“I don’t even know where they’ve taken him!” Sam tried to defend himself. “I didn’t even know we were coming to Washington until yesterday!”

“Dean must have known! You…” Sam bit his lip at the contempt in the look that Ford was giving him. “You said he’d tell you anything if you fucked him senseless enough… you said he wouldn’t know what he was saying, you were just that _good!_ You…arrogant piece of…“

“But he is here in the city?” The young man ignored the slight as he felt panic rise inside him: “He was worried about them coming to get him and putting him on a plane: that’s why we drove all night to _get_ here! But you’re saying they might have taken him somewhere else…?”

“No. No, he’s here in Washington, Sam. _Believe_ me, he’s here in Washington! And how the hell we’re going to raid _there_ with all the security…? It’ll be the whole _Bureau_ on the line if it goes wrong!” This last was said more as an aside to himself than to Sam but then he was continuing out loud: “I’ve got a twenty-four hour watch on the tracker in Dean’s spine so he can’t go anywhere without us knowing… for now…”

The young man stared at him: “For now?”

The agent shrugged: “If we raid this gathering… if it goes wrong… if they think that Dean has _anything_ to do with this then… his slave tracking device will be deactivated and he will be gone: make no mistake about that!

His attitude finally softened a little towards Sam as he sighed. “Even _you_ were worried that your brother might take the fall for this. You actually suggested at our last meeting that we deliberately shoot Dean first as we go in…just a flesh wound naturally… to try and stop any suspicion being put on him before it started…

But if we raid this event and they just _wonder_ where the information about this evening had come from… It will only take one little doubt, one little slip on our part, one of those bastards getting away or noticing something that doesn’t feel ‘right’… and all hell will be let loose for your brother.”

The brunette-haired man’s temper was rising again: he was glaring angrily across at Sam and his voice was getting louder with every word: “Shit, Sam: why didn’t you slip him that swallowable tracker? Hide it in his drink: force him down his throat like you were boasting about! Anything to keep him safe… If the one in his _back_ gets turned off…

We can’t _lose_ him… I _won’t_ lose him. ”

“I’m sorry, Ford, I…”

But Sam’s almost tearful apology was cut short as the FBVS agent’s radio suddenly crackled to life and a deep disembodied voice spoke from thin air as if by magic: “Sir, if we’re going to go, it has to be now while they’re still arriving! Once that entrance is sealed and with the official security outside and what they’re bound to have inside….it’ll be a full on battle to get inside if we miss that slot…. Sir?”

Ford sighed and retrieved the device from his pocket to respond: “We’ve got a problem, Fitzherbert. The Asset hasn’t been given the GPS pill.”

“Then we make sure we get him out of there, Sir: we have to take this chance. But we have to go _now_ , Sir.”

The FBVS agent considered momentarily: Sam sat on the other bed and watched him, feeling almost sick. What the hell had he done?

“I know, I know…” Ford rubbed his hand wearily across his forehead as he tried to think, almost catching himself in the eye with the radio’s antenna. “This is possibly the only chance we’ll ever have of catching them all together… to at least get names and faces if we can’t get anything else… to know who we’re actually _dealing_ with and how high it goes…

But I can’t risk Dean being hurt. If it goes wrong and suspicion falls on him, then we’ve no way of reaching him in time – that 72 hour window that the tracker would have given was the only safety net we had for him…

And we _need_ him to testify. If he would only tell a _little_ of what he must have seen…well… that’s something that we were going to work on after. If he can’t because he’s dead or… it’ll be all over anyway.

No. I can’t take the risk, Fitzherbert. I’m calling it…

Tell everyone to stand down. Just take a small crew and watch the exterior: see if you can get any intel at all about who’s in there, as many surveillance photos as you can…”

“But Sir… if we can grab the slave first, snatch him out of there…”

“Then they’ll know who betrayed them… or they’ll think they’ll know, even though they’ll be wrong…” with a glance across at Sam, who felt himself go red in the face. ” _Really_ wrong!

You’ve been with me gathering information on these bastards these last few months, Herby: do you want Dean on your conscience if it goes wrong? He’ll be dead or disappeared, either way we’ll lose him for good. Either _to_ them or _by_ them. We can’t risk it. I _won’t_ risk it.

Stand everyone down. The mission’s off. My decision: I’ll contact the boss.”

“Sir.” The disappointment was evident in the disembodied voice’s tone as the contact was disconnected… and Sam couldn’t bring himself to care: he could have hugged Ford right then and there… if it wasn’t for the fact that the agent would probably have shot him out of contempt.

They sat on the beds and stared across at each other.

“Thank you.” It didn’t come close to conveying how grateful he was: nothing would _ever_ convey how grateful he was. “Thank you for not letting him get hurt…”

“One of us has to worry about him.” The retort was short, clipped and all but spat. Then Ford was standing up to leave. “I’ll be in touch, Sam. I’ll come back and talk to Dean… try and convince him to help willingly…” he sighed despite himself… “I know he won’t. He’ll never go against them because of you! He’d _die_ protecting you… and this is how you treat him…”

And with that, he was heading towards the motel room door, reaching of the handle and moving to go through without a glance back at the young man still sitting on the bed…

But then he was slowly backing back into the room… and his stance had gone rigid… and his hands were being held out to the sides of him as if in placation…

Sam hurried to get to his feet, instinctively reaching for his gun but just as immediately releasing it as he saw, beyond Ford, men all but pushing their way in to the room. Men in black uniforms and boots… and carrying assault rifles. They pushed Ford back and took his radio, and after a quick search in his jacket, his gun.

Then one was advancing on Sam, holding out his gloved hand expectantly, and the younger Winchester was sighing and also relinquishing his pistol… “And the knife: we know you always carry a knife.” More than one rifle now was aimed directly at Sam. With another sigh, he obeyed, and handed the blade over.

“All clear, Sir.”

Somebody else strolled into the room… no, he _sauntered_ in, as if he owned it. The petite-framed, always smartly dressed man that Sam hated: the man that he would _always_ hate.

“What do _you_ want? I thought you’d be with your ‘beautiful man’ already while you had the chance…?”

“Oh, I intend to, Samuel. I intend to always be with him from now on.” The prince didn’t even bother to look at him as he responded, for his attention was focused on the _other_ man who had been in the room.

And his words of greeting to _him_ seemed to be with genuine. “Hello, Agent Ford. It’s a pleasure to actually meet you. I really _mean_ that. I’ve been following your career and your fight against us with a lot of interest. I really do wish that you would have seen sense and accepted my offers of a position within my organisation… it’s still on the table, if you _are_ interested… I appreciate _loyalty_ more than you can imagine….”

“I would never work for you! Or the AE! All the hurt you cause! All the slaves doomed to miserable existences in prostitution, or in the cellars creating your concoctions of designer drugs or running them on the streets! How many lives have you ruined?”

“Nobody is forced to buy drugs: they want to!” The prince had on his most charming smile. “The free think that it is their _right_ to decide for themselves… and who are we to argue? As for the slaves, well, that is precisely why I would want a man like _you!_ You care about them, Agent Ford. Since the death of your own father at the hands of those bastards that owned him, you _care_.

And you may not believe me, but _I_ care! They may be my possessions, but they’re still people, they still have a right to a decent life!

 _You_ would ensure that rules are put in place and adhered to. And I would make _sure_ that they were… you have my guarantee…

Come and work for me, Agent. Believe me, you would do far more good than you ever will in the Bureau. You would be helping them at the _source!”_

The FBVS agent drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the prince: the hatred for him in Ford’s eyes was so fierce that he couldn’t have hidden it even if he _had_ been thinking straight. _“_ I would _never_ work for you! I’m going to stop you and your whole organisation, if it’s the _last_ thing I do!”

 The prince sighed: “I hoped you’d reconsider… I really did. I’m sorry.”

It was with a seemingly genuine regret that he motioned at one of his men, the one that had removed Sam’s pistol from him. The man stepped forward.

Ford’s face went dead white as he suddenly realised what was about to happen… but he could do nothing. There was a crack of a shot being fired and red gloop was suddenly splattered all over the wall behind where the agent had been standing…

Gloop that had seconds before been flesh, blood and brain matter.

Ford was shot another two times even as his body fell to the floor.

Sam stared in horror. The FBVS agent had just been murdered in front of his eyes…

… and then the horror turned to abject consternation as he suddenly registered what the weapon used had been.

It had been _his_ gun.

The bodyguard had held it in his gloved hand… so it would be _his_ prints on it! On the gun that had just been used to murder an FBVS agent.

And the Bureau would know that he had been the last person to be with Ford… the agent had come to see _him_ …

Sam could hardly breathe as the probable consequences of that sunk in.

“Good, good: I can see you’re beginning to understand…” The prince was smiling at him, the most frightening smile that Sam thought he had ever seen because the dark eyes were laughing with triumph. “So, here’s what you’re going to do.

We’re going to take your gun for insurance,” The bodyguard was carefully placing it in a clear plastic evidence bag as he was speaking, “and you’re going to sign Dean over to me because you _want_ to. It seriously _is_ the best thing for him that you can do, Samuel: you really haven’t taken good care of him since your little … sojourn to Hell, have you? We both know that he will be far better off with me…”

“Never.” Sam snapped. “I know what I’ve done and how I’ve behaved and I’ll never forgive myself. But _he_ has. He’s forgiven me, and he _knows_ that I will spend the rest of my life trying to put that right! I may have to put up with you and your…“ He was trying to remain calm but he couldn’t help his face from contorting with hatred for the little royal piece of shit…” bastard AE associates being in our lives again, but at least when you’re not around, I can look after him. He loves me and I love him, and you’re never going to get in the way of that!”

“Of course he loves you, Samuel. The same way he loved your father. As a master. As a _lover_. But…”

“But what?”

“How do you think he’s going to feel when he realises that you’ve betrayed him yet again, Samuel?”

And the prince was motioning for another of his men to retrieve something stuck to the window frame: something small and inconspicuous in the corner below the base of the blinds that Sam hadn’t even registered was there.

“I put this there when I brought Dean his clothes” one of the bodyguards informed him with a small smirk. “When he turned his back to hang them up.”

“What…. What is it?” Sam felt sick. Please let it not be a recording device: please let it not be a recording device…

“It’s a recording device.” The prince was laughing openly. “And you and our poor agent there had such a lovely conversation. All about how you went to the FBVS. About how you went behind Dean’s back. Again. _All_ for revenge.

You _love_ your revenge, don’t you, Samuel? That is _really_ what propels you, not _love_. You’ll do absolutely _anything_ for revenge: you’d even drink demon blood. What else did you do with that demon, Sam? And your poor ‘much loved’ brother came second yet again…

He really _will_ be much better off with me. You _have_ to agree that.”

Sam licked his lips: his mouth was so dry: “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing, Samuel. _You_ are going to sign Dean over to me, because you love him.

Because it’s the _best_ for him.

Not for money; not for any items of value; not for retribution of any sort. But because you love him and it’s the best thing you could ever do for him.

And in return… I won’t let him hear this recording!

I won’t call the police and tell them there’s a dead FBVS agent in your motel room. I won’t hand over your gun, with your fingerprints, with your bullets inside, and…erm… _through_ … the dead FBVS agent…

Not to mention that a few years ago, a slave’s tracker was illegally activated with the signal being sent to your laptop… _And_ that you were caught on CCTV breaking into the ranch of the extremely influential businessman, Drayton Emerson, shortly before he and his brother were mysteriously killed by an explosion of unknown cause, not to mention that another FBVS agent was also found murdered almost beside their bodies…”

The prince paused, and nodded to himself: “All in all, Sam, I think I’ve been very lenient to you. I could have got rid of you a long time ago, but Dean loves you and wanted to stay with you, and, well, I was busy…

But now, I think it’s time. I’m done playing your pathetic little games of ‘tit for tat’. Time to grow up, Samuel. You’ve _lost_.

Sign him over so you won’t go to jail for murder. So you won’t leave Dean all on his own… again. Sign him over… because you _love_ him.

That seems fair, doesn’t it?”

“You fucking little bastard.”

The prince smirked, but the threat in his words was far from light: “I wouldn’t keep pushing too much now, Sam. You pride yourself on your so-called intelligence, yet right now, you’re showing a distinct lack of any at all. You were _always_ out of your depth against me. Accept it. Get over it. Are you ready to sign?”

He showed no surprise at all at the lack of response from the glowering young man who towered over his small frame: “ _Okay_ then. I have got a party to go to! As you said, I should be spending time with _my_ ”… Sam had to shut his eyes at the emphasis on the ‘my’, he wanted to hit this truly vile little bastard _so_ hard… “beautiful man.

 _You_ will stay here in this room. You will not leave. You will not try and move the body: my men will be outside at all times to make _sure_ you don’t. I will take your gun and the recording.

And when I return, you will have reconsidered and be ready to sign Dean’s deeds over to me. Because that’s the only option you have…

Be seeing you soon, Samuel.”

And with that, the prince was leaving the motel room, followed by his men. He immediately got into a long, gleaming, black limousine that sped away almost instantly, followed by a SUV containing half of his men.

But another identical vehicle that the rest of the men had obviously travelled in stayed where it was, with the well-trained and organised militants taking up seemingly casual positions at the front of the motel, from which, Sam noted ominously, they would have a good view of his motel room door, while a few of them casually strolled around the corner of the building as if heading towards the rear of it… and didn’t return.

All Sam could do was go back inside his room and close the door away from all the watching eyes outside, leaning momentarily with his back against the wood to try and take a breath. He felt that he could physically collapse.

The bloodied body of Ford drew his eye: what was left of the almond-complexioned face seeming to stare accusingly at him from where it still lay on the floor. Sam allowed the moisture to gather in his eyes: at least they hid the terrible sight. What the hell was he going to do?

What the hell _could_ he do?

Sam stayed momentarily by the door, tears trickling down his cheeks, desperately trying to think of… anything… any _way_ to get out of this situation that he himself had been so stupid as to put him and Dean in…

But he kept coming back to only one thought: the _only_ thing he could think of to do.

So Sam did it.

He called Bobby.

 

 


	16. The Night of the AE - Part Two

It should have taken nearly two whole days to drive from Sioux Falls to Washington DC. Somehow the old man did it in well under one.

It was early evening the day after the prince’s visit when Sam heard the familiar rumble and rattle of the old Chevelle that was his surrogate uncle’s vehicle of choice pull into the parking lot. He hurried to open the door, but didn’t dare step outside the room to greet him. The men may have made themselves inconspicuous so as not to frighten any other guests, but there was still an immediate, and ominous, electronically targeted ‘red dot’ that appeared at the top of the leg of his denims that gave no doubt as to what would happen if he did…

Killing him would void the agreement his soulless self had made with the AE. However, _crippling_ him would only make it easier for the authorities to chase him down for murder…

But he was _so_ grateful to see Bobby. Sam all but dragged the old man into the room as soon as he approached and flung his arms tightly around him, feeling at least a tiny bit of tension ease just from the other’s presence…

“You holding up okay, boy?”

The simple question nearly reduced Sam to tears: hastily he released Bobby and moved away from him momentarily, determined not to disgrace himself.

The other understood and gave him a moment to regain his composure, looking around the room instead and wincing as he took in the state of the blood-splattered wall and mat and the lump under a sheet that only the day before had been a living, breathing human being….

“He’s going to start stinkin’ the place out soon.”

“That’s not helpful, Bobby.” But he couldn’t help but give a rueful smile as he eventually settled on the edge of the small couch.

Bobby stood and regarded him: “You get any sleep at all?”

Sam shook his head. “How can I? With Dean god-knows-where, and _that_ there…” he indicated the bulging sheet.  “Besides… I should be asking _you_ that? How did you get here so quick? You must have set a new record… Or broken every speed limit on the way!”

Bobby scratched his head. And actually looked somewhat confused: “Danged if I know, Sam. It was the darnedest thing: that damn car wouldn’t start, _wouldn’t_ start… and then I… _yelled_ at it. Sat in it and cussed it out, telling it how I _had_ to get here because they were going to take Dean away, and ain’t _nobody_ taking my boy away, and how it had better start behaving because I just didn’t _need_ this right now…

And then it started as if it had _understood_ me. And as for how fast I got here…?” He was frowning now as he remembered… or rather…. _didn’t_. “I crossed the state line for Wisconsin fast enough… but then it seemed barely any time ‘til I got to Ohio… I almost feel I skipped driving those states somehow!” Bobby shook himself: he was doing _crazy_ -talk! “You’re right: I must have driven like a _lunatic!_ But at least I made it here before Dean got back. So!

What’s the plan, Sam?”

And he was also sitting down beside the young man, absently noticing how haggard he was looking, but not really caring. Nothing else mattered but the problem in hand… rest could come later. “How are we going to play this? Whatever you decide, I’ll be there, whether it’s running or fighting. But they’re not _taking_ him!”

“I know, Bobby. I know. But…”

“But, boy?”

“I don’t know what to do.” Sam admitted. “I’ve been expecting sirens just about every moment! I didn’t even want to try and wipe down the walls in case…“ he sighed, “well, in case it came to it, Bobby, and I’m arrested for his murder. I thought I’d be accused of trying to destroy evidence. I mean… his man… what was it… Fitzherbert… he knew that Ford was here to see me last night, yes… but he _also_ knew that Ford was trying to bring down the AE, so he must know the extents they go to, to protect themselves…

I _might_ be believed if I don’t touch anything… they _might_ believe that: yes, it was my gun, but there’s nothing else to link me with the murder, nothing at _all_ if I don’t go messing with anything.”

“You ain’t being arrested, Sam.”

Bobby was trying to be reassuring, but his words fell flat as Sam turned eyes that almost looked defeated on him. “He’s got my gun. My gun killed Ford. Ford, the FBVS agent, who is lying dead in my motel room and his brains all over the floor. I refuse to sign those deeds over to him and the prince takes the gun to the authorities and I’m in jail, possibly for the rest of my life… and I lose Dean.

Or I sign Dean over to him, keep myself _out_ of jail… and I lose him anyway.”

“Or we run.”

“Where to, Bobby? Dean has a tracker embedded in his spine and these bastards are world-wide! Where could we _possibly_ run to?”

Bobby paused momentarily. But he still had one strategy left: “ _Cas_. He could take you somewhere: you _and_ Dean… Or he could take all of us. You boys mean _everything_ to me: you know that, don’t’cha…?”

His last hope stuttered and stalled as Sam turned his haunted eyes on him: “Where _is_ Cas, Bobby? He saved us from that female she-bitch Raphael, but we haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t even responded to _Dean’s_ calls!” Not that Sam was unhappy about _that,_ but he hated to see his brother so disappointed…

…. Especially when the younger man’s suspicions were beginning to grow about how trustworthy the angel actually was. Even the AE doctor who had examined Dean had warned them about him. But this wasn’t the time: he had more urgent things right at the moment to worry about than what Castiel might be up to… it couldn’t be anything too earth-shattering anyway…

“And he told us at your place… when he got blasted to where ever he got banished to… that he wouldn’t be able to help Dean anymore because he had something more important to do… You got really angry at him for it, remember…?”

“Yeah.” Bobby looked down at his dusty old work-boots and blinked back tears. “Yeah, I remember, Sam…

… So what do we do…?”

He waited. But there was nothing except a long silence.

Finally Bobby steeled himself to look back up, making sure there was no trace of any weakness in his eyes… and found them meeting Sam’s fully glistening ones, with tears already trickling steadily down the young man’s cheeks: “I don’t know…

I don’t know _what_ to do, Bobby. What do I _do?_ ”

As it turned out, they didn’t have too long to wait and worry about it.

The high powered roar of the second SUV was heard far before the smooth purr of the prince’s limousine was. Bobby watched as Sam’s face blanched even more than it had been previously: he had been trying to get the young man to eat some of the food that he had brought while stopping for gas, but now he was glad that it all had been refused…

… because, from the look of complete nausea that was now making Sam’s complexion seem to be almost green, he would have lost anything unfortunate enough to have been in his stomach. Although the old man had to admit… _he_ was every bit as nervous as heavily booted footsteps were heard approaching where they were waiting.

And then the armed men were once more coming heavily through the door, weapons ready in case the occupants of the room had ideas about going out in a blaze of glory. Sam and Bobby hastily stood with their hands up and backed away: as long as the prince had Dean, then they wouldn’t be trying anything…

But then it didn’t matter. Because the slave himself was walking in through the door.

Sam nearly started forward to greet him… but then Dean glanced at him… and the look in the green eyes shook the young man to his core…

Because he had _never_ seen the older man so angry.

Never.

Dean stared at him. Sam could see how tense he was; how his limbs were a hair’s breath from physically trembling with barely contained fury, and his eyes…? He had never seen Dean’s eyes so terrifyingly cold and yet at the same time so alive with pent-up emotional rage all at once.

And he had certainly never seen his brother look at _him_ like that before… Not even at the church when Sam had just released Lucifer…

For Dean was looking at him right now as if he would beat the younger man to death with his bare fists right then and there…

“You _know_.” Sam had to look away, study his own feet instead. He _had_ to. “You know what I’ve done. Dean, I…”

But his brother was turning away from him to instead move across to the blood-stained sheet on the floor and its terrible secret beneath. Even as he bent to lift the cover, Sam was recovering himself enough to look at Dean properly.

He was still dressed in the exquisite suit, but now the tie and waistcoat had gone and the previously immaculate white shirt was crumpled and undone at the neck to reveal that he was still fastened into the tight platinum neck collar. A quick glance at his arms told Sam that the wrist bands were also still firmly in place, but then he was taking a second and closer look at where his brother’s flesh was on view around the gleaming metal… and feeling fury of his own at the sight of the dark bruises already blossoming from beneath Dean’s jaw down to the top of his shoulders both front and back: from fingernail sized ones to teeth marks and all the way in size up to full open palm prints wrapped around his neck as if hands had been squeezing tight enough to stop his ability to breathe…

But then Dean was reverently replacing the sheet and straightening up… and all Sam’s world shrunk to that one moment’s focus on his brother and his reaction to the events that had happened in his absence in that motel room… and to what had gone before to cause them…

He barely noticed, but _everyone_ in the room seemed to be holding their breath from the same damned thought…

“Dean?”

The older man barely glanced at him.

Instead he retraced his step to return to the door, where Sam now realised that the prince was also standing, having followed his brother into the room with a smug grin on his face. Although even _he_ looked surprised as Dean all but snatched the paperwork that was being held loosely in one immaculately manicured hand away to instead thrust them physically at Sam as if he wished they were a weapon…

“Sign them!”

“What?”

“My deeds! You’re going to sign them: sign _me_ over to him! I’m sick of this! I’m _sick_ of this!

 _Sign_ them. Sam!”

“No, Dean, I…” Sam didn’t know what he had been expecting his brother’s reaction to be… but that hadn’t been it.

But then he was stepping back in a hurry as the older man was right up on his face. _Right_ up. Glaring up at him, almost chest to chest: Sam could _feel_ the rage smouldering through Dean as an almost tangible thing…

One that could ignite at any moment.

And mixed with his incredulity at the sight of the normally controlled Dean being so nearly _not_ … was more than a little fear of what would happen if he _did_ lose that last vestige of restraint...

“Dean…?” Desperately he tried to find words… _any_ words that might soothe his brother’s fury: despite his almost total focus on the green eyed man, who by now had him almost backed against the wall on the other side of the room away from the murdered FBVS agent, a minute part of him was also aware that… there was a _murdered FBVS agent in the room…!_

As well as all the men who had killed him so indifferently!

“I can’t let you do this. I can’t let them just _take_ you…”

“I’m not asking you, Sam! I’m _telling_ you! I’m done with this! I’m done with people getting hurt because of me!  I’m not worth this! _Sign the damned forms!_ No! Wait!”

And just as suddenly as he had advanced on the younger man, Dean was pulling away from him to instead address the prince in only a _slightly_ more contained tone: “My dad’s tools: they’re at Bobby’s…“ The old man’s eyebrows came together in a frown but he remained silent… “He left them to me, and I doubt you’re going to let me bring my car…”

“You won’t have any need for the Impala at my house, Dean: the final arrangements for your arrival are being completed as we speak.” The petite man was quite unperturbed by the slave’s show of emotion. “Nor indeed will you need your father’s tools. But… if it will make you happy to bring some mementoes of your existence as Dean Winchester then I’ll send one of my men to fetch them for you….”

“ _No!_ ” And now Dean was up in _his_ face! “I’m going to get them _myself!_ And _then_ Sam can sign me to you.”

The black-uniformed guards scrambled to train their assault rifles on him as he towered over the prince menacingly, but lowered them at just a gesture from their master. The deep brown eyes stared up into the green with intense interest: “Are you asking me or telling me? And I would think _very_ carefully about your answer…”

“I’m _telling_ you.” Sam simultaneously winced and felt arousal at the low snarl issuing from his brother’s lips, although he could wish it _wasn’t_ being aimed at the little royal bastard. “You win! You know you have! But I’m driving my Baby back to Bobby’s house _one…_ _last… time_. _And_ I’m picking up my tools because they’re all I _have_. And you can fucking well _wait,_ and pick me up from _there_ …

Because you _don’t_ … Own me… _Yet!_ ”

He was turning away from the prince, his body still tense from rage… his gaze once again going to the now brown-bloodstained sheet even as he moved to pick up his travel bag from where he had left it ready the previous day…

Sam wouldn’t have believed it possible, but if anything, his brother’s fury _increased_.

 In the next instant Dean had swung back round, the snarl had deepened to a growl that reverberated around the room: “You didn’t _have_ to kill Ford. He was a good man! He was just trying to do his job… which was protecting slaves like me from bastards like you!  You better make _sure_ he gets treated decently: don’t you _dare_ just dump his remains somewhere...

I _mean_ it, your _Highness_ …”

The prince’s eyebrows furrowed: “Is that a threat, Dean? Do you think that’s wise: to threaten me?” He indicated the ever-present weaponry trained on the slave at that particular moment. “I must say… I’m certainly seeing a new attitude from you at the moment, and I’m not sure I like it…”

But even _his_ slight smirk finally disappeared at the look of sheer _hatred_ the other man gave him: “I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it! You’re an evil, vicious son of a bitch. You and all the rest of them! No matter how rich or how powerful you are, you’ll never be _anything_ more than that…

Never.

 You make me fucking sick… _all_ of you!” His sweeping glance around the room seemed to take in Sam as well and the young man felt his stomach drop. “I’m done with this. _All_ of this! It stops!

  _Now!_ ”

And with that, Dean abruptly left the room with the papers, _his_ papers, still in his hand, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that the thin walls of the motel rattled and shuddered.

There was a momentary silence.

Then…

It wasn’t only Sam and Bobby who stared at the prince as the small moustache suddenly seemed to lift at the edges… and then the full lips were breaking apart into a wide smile. His men also were watching him with nervous amazement, taken aback at the sight of their normally ruthless master laughing with almost childlike pleasure…

“ _There_ it is! _Finally!_ ”

He seemed to become aware of the younger Winchester and the old man gaping at him: “All this time: all these years. All I’ve heard about him! The aggression! The courage! The _passion!_

Dean Winchester: the Righteous man! The Michael Sword! Do you think I haven’t heard all the stories about my beautiful man? And yet, when _I_ meet him…”

The prince shook his head with genuine sadness: “It wasn’t _me_ who beat him so much that he’s completely submissive in bed, Samuel… that he’s afraid to even struggle.” He looked directly at the young man. “You call _us_ evil. You think _I’m_ a bastard! And yet… _you’re_ the Boy with demon blood; _you’re_ Lucifer’s Vessel,” He watched as all the colour drained from the other’s face before it flared bright red in embarrassment. “ _You’re_ the one who started the _Apocalypse_ and nearly destroyed us _all_ …

But you forget… I knew your father… That’s some pedigree to live down to!”

Bobby swore beneath his breath as the smaller man advanced on Sam… and even though he was so much taller, the younger man retreated: hanging his head yet again from shame, his long hair flopping around his face. But the prince didn’t look upset at all about the language that had been used at him.

In fact, he was still grinning from ear to ear. And not just from the pleasure of humiliating Sam.

“I’ve always wondered about Dean the _Hunter_. But I’ve never even seen that side of him: _that_ was the first time _ever!_ And it was almost like seeing… well, he was almost another man completely. One I didn’t even recognise for a moment.”

He paused: a lascivious and lewd-filled glint in the deep brown eyes, and an obscene smirk now plumping his lips. “But one that I definitely want to see _again._ What would _he_ be like in my bed? All that aggression…all that emotion! Oh… my beautiful man… it would be _amazing_ …” The words were almost moaned…”I thought he was perfect before, but I’m going to have to think up lots of new things to do, to try and make sure the Hunter comes out to play…

Sam’s head shot back up as the prince all but licked his lips with excitement. And he couldn’t help from noticing as he did just _how_ excited the other man was from thoughts of what he was going to do to Dean: the tight suit pants were definitely bulging so hard at the groin so as to probably be painful…

“Don’t you hurt him. If he really insists I sign it, then I will… but I _swear_ , if you _hurt_ him…”

“You’ll what, Sam? Enough now.” The words may now have turned condescending, but there was a decided icy tone beneath them. “Face it: your threats have always been so… empty where any of _us_ are concerned. Accept you’ve lost gracefully, there’s a good little boy. Time to go!”

And finally, to Bobby’s relief, the petite man was stepping away from the younger Winchester, drawing himself up straight while absently sorting himself out below the waist, smoothing out imaginary crinkles in his immaculate suit, and getting ready to leave.

Instantly he was issuing precise, business-like orders to his men. “Four of you remain behind to get this sorted out. The owner’s always happy to be paid off; Fitzherbert will already be filing the report I told him to write; make sure there’s no witnesses… _nicely_ , of course…

And my Dean is correct: Ford _was_ a good man. I _so_ wish he would have seen sense….” It was with a genuinely rueful expression on his face that he glanced across the room to where the body was lying: “Look after him properly. He _deserved_ to be treated with respect.

And make sure my jet meets us at FSD, ready to depart immediately after our little arrangement has been finalised. With all the necessary… medication… on it for Dean of course… it’s a long flight.

I’ll be following you to your uncle’s in the limousine, Sam: I can rough it for a day or so…

Oh, and Samuel?”

The young man dug his nails into his palms, trying to keep his own anger under control: there must be _some_ thing else he hadn’t thought of… there must be some _thing_ else he could ask for help… “What?”

The other man paused on the threshold of the motel door and looked back: “Just in case you’re getting ideas about asking your tame angel to assist again… Well, arrangements are already being made in that respect….

My beautiful man's brand needs retouching thanks to you and your run-in with that witch. I hope you realise you’ve caused him to have to be hurt twice, but we were examining it last night to see what needs redoing… and realised that if a banishment spell is reversed, which is easy enough, it then becomes a _particularly_ intense entrapment instead…  Castiel’s wings would be well and truly ‘clipped’, as the saying goes!” he laughed at his own joke. “We’ve already contacted one of our associates from…erm… down-under to come and take care of it…

Suddenly the full lips were tightening as a cruel glint came into the prince’s eyes. Despite themselves, both Sam and Bobby felt cold shivers race down their spines at the sudden coldness in the tone as it took on a dangerous, and _jealous_ , undercurrent. “For quite some time now, the word has been that… he might _matter_ to my Dean. A creature like _that_.”

His contempt for the rumour and its connotations was obvious. “I put it to you, Sam: what do you think Dean would do if I _did_ catch myself this flying cockroach? Would he care if I crushed it beneath my foot? Would it matter to him if I stomped it to pieces…?

Would you really put him through that…?”

Sam stared at him, tears trickling down his face. The prince nodded in satisfaction and glanced through the door.

“Dean’s getting restless out there, Sam. One of my men has been standing beside that beautiful car to stop him driving away… but… I think he’s about to be run over at any minute! Besides, the sooner you leave here: the sooner you sign those deeds!

See you at your uncle’s house, Samuel.

Lovely to finally meet you, Mr Singer!”

And with that, he was also leaving the motel room, motioning to his armed bodyguard to move away from where Dean sat in the driver’s seat of the Impala: head resting against the steering wheel; eyes closed to hold back tears of hurt and frustration; knuckles white with tension as they gripped the leatherette covered plastic.

Instead the prince smirked as he moved across to his limousine and settled himself leisurely into the comfortable rear: he would travel to Sioux Falls exactly one car space behind his soon-to-be brand new possession. He had waited _years_ to have him…

And he had a _lot_ of dreams involving Dean that he was determined to make come true.

Just as soon as he finally got him home…

The journey back to Bobby’s was the worst that Sam had ever known… bar none.

Because his brother didn’t speak a word to him the whole time. Not one single word. Despite all Sam’s efforts to talk… to explain… to apologise… to try and get Dean to yell and shout and scream at him… he hardly acknowledged the younger man getting hurriedly into the car beside him with his bag, simultaneously grateful to be leaving that room with the callous militants and the lifeless FBVS agent… and yet loath to leave the parking lot, because it would mean the beginning of the end of his life with his big brother.

The end of Sam’s dreams of living happily ever after with the man he loved.

It would mean it was over. 

Dean single-mindedly stayed behind the wheel the entire time it took him to drive to Sioux Falls: only getting out for rest breaks and to fill up his uncomplaining Baby, but ensuring that he took the keys with him every time.

And even if Sam was prepared to _try_ and argue with him, to perhaps suggest that he take a break and rest for at least a couple of hours… then one look at the sunglass-wearing muscled men occupying all the seats in the two SUV’s and the front of the long, blacked-out windowed limousine, not to mention Bobby in his old Chevelle who was absolutely _determined_ not to lose the convoy and his surrogate son… not on _his_ watch, thank you very much: he would sleep once he was dead… had him biting his lip to remain silent and just let his brother enjoy being able to drive the Impala while he still could….

Although he already knew that _he_ would never do so again. Despite himself, Sam was tempted to ask the prince if it _would_ somehow be possible for Dean to take his beloved car with him. He deserved that at least…

… and perhaps, just perhaps, it might one day help him to forgive his younger brother for yet another betrayal…

Although…

Dean _was_ deep within his own thoughts, _really_ he was. And slowly Sam became aware that, with every passing hour that they drew closer to Bobby’s house, the older man’s tension and anxiety seemed to increase. He couldn’t help but begin to wonder why...

And he _was_ surprised at the pace Dean set. He would have actually expected the opposite to happen: that his brother would try to prolong what time he had left…. But the drivers in the other cars seemed to have unanimously agreed to let Dean go at the rate he chose… and he was driving _fast_.

 _Too_ fast, to the younger man’s mind, but then… the few police cars that began to try and object almost immediately seemed to be called away via their radios for some reason… apart from one that tried to be persistent until the lead SUV peeled off from the retinue and presumably went to ‘have a word’…

At least, Sam never saw the blue lights of that particular police car in the passenger side mirror again…

The whole journey took a non-stop total of just over eighteen hours: Sam supposed it just went to show exactly how pissed off Dean really was... Not that the younger man could blame him…

Sam could have wept when he remembered how happy he had been only the morning before… Before he had wrecked it all… yet again…

How could he have gone to the FBVS? He had gotten that poor agent killed. No wonder Dean wouldn’t talk to him. No wonder he was so angry with him. 

He knew why. He _understood_ why! How could he, after everything else, have betrayed his brother like that? Again. And once again, done it in the name of fucking revenge…

Sam had finally succeeded in losing _everything_.

He sat miserably in the passenger seat and wished, not for the first time in his life, that he could go back and start over…

Then he was suddenly alert and sitting up straight for, as they hit the outskirts of Sioux Falls itself, Dean abruptly gunned the engine to race through some changing traffic lights that forced the other vehicles to stop. Sam caught a glimpse of the anger on the faces of the men in the lead SUV as they were left behind momentarily. He felt relief surge through him: that had definitely been deliberate!

Dean was going to _run_.

That would be reckless and beyond insane – he wouldn’t get far. _They_ wouldn’t get far: because Sam was fucking well going with him no matter what…

What did Dean have in mind? And what would happen to Bobby, he would be left behind with the prince and his men…?

But he couldn’t afford to worry about that… whatever Dean was thinking about doing, it had to be now…

And Sam would have his back.

But his sudden hope was dashed immediately as Dean instead rammed the pedal down as hard as he could, racing straight to Bobby’s yard at top speed, and screeching to a halt in the yard as close as he could get to the house itself. Then the older man was all but leaping from the driver’s seat to run straight into the house, almost breaking down the kitchen door in his haste to unlock it… “Don’t let them in, Sammy!”

His brother stared incredulously but hurried to get out of the passenger side even as the other vehicles caught them up, also coming to rest with loud squeals of brake and clouds of dust. The uniformed men piled out, looking furious and already snatching up their weapons...

Sam went to greet them, holding his hands out in a gesture of placation: “He’s just getting the tools, that’s all…”

“Get him.” The prince was also climbing out the rear of the limousine, shirt now slightly crumpled and now disrobed of his suit jacket, absently rubbing at one eye as if he had only just awakened from a deep sleep but already alert enough to issue orders. His militia hurried to obey.

Sam had to stop them.

There was only one way to distract the little royal bastard…

He hurried back to the Impala, and snatched up the deeds from where his brother had discarded them into the rear seat in his rage. “He’s only gone to get his things. Here. _Here_ , I’ll sign them. But I haven’t got a pen.” He realised even as he said the words that there would probably be one in Bobby’s house, which would give them yet another reason to go inside… stupid, _stupid_ , Sam!

“I’ve got one.” And the prince was gesturing to his men. To Sam’s relief, they all paused where they were, and one went to the limousine to fetch his master’s jacket and bring it over. He himself reached into it to offer the young man a shimmering Mont Blanc ball pen. Sam took it and tried not to wonder at all the diamonds encrusted into the body of it.

“Sign each page, Samuel. Let’s get this done.” And the men were gathering around, as if to make sure that there was no last minute delay…

Not that Sam could think of a single one that might help him. How could he delay this further?

How could he give Dean time to do whatever it was that Sam was hoping with every last atom of his body that Dean was _doing…?_

He fumbled the Mont Blanc and dropped it into the dirt, only to have three ordinary pens thrust at him.

Time was up.

But then, to both his relief and his horror, Dean was returning from inside the house with a small canvas workman’s bag bulging with strange shaped and metallic clunking objects in his hand, which he immediately put down on the ground beside his feet: “Got them. And here, Sam.”

And he was handing the younger man the much treasured picture of himself as a child with their mother, plus the couple of other ones capturing younger versions of themselves together on their own, and with their father: “You should have these.”

“No, take them, Dean.” Sam knew how much these had meant to the older man… and he especially couldn’t bear to deprive him of those few memories when his life had been good... well better, anyway. “I don’t even remember her…”

“She weren’t my mom, Sammy! She was yours. And John was your dad. Take ‘em or ditch ‘em: it’s up to you.” And he was casually flipping the three or four fading photos in through the open window of the Impala to land on the driver’s seat, as easily as if he would have discarded a piece of garbage into a trash can…

“Dean, I…”

“You signed that yet? Let’s get this done, Sam. Time to give all this shit up.”

“But…” The younger Winchester’s eyes were filling with tears yet again. And for the first time he could remember in a long time, he didn’t care _who_ the hell saw…

“It’s over, Sam. The AE, and dad, and Ford, and _you_ …. I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of all of it.  I just want it to be done.”

And with that he was taking one of the offered pens to pass to his brother, looking Sam steadily in the eyes as he did: “Sign it, Sammy.”

His younger brother bit his lip. And cried. But he shakily signed the deeds.

He could only stand and watch as the older man briskly removed them from his hand, and immediately passed them to the prince. “Dean?”

But the other only bent to retrieve the faded cloth bag, and the prince’s horrendously expensive pen, before turning away from him without hesitation to cross instead to the limousine. _“Dean!”_

He was ignored as his brother… his _big brother_ … got into the rear of the vehicle without a single glance back.

“You’ve got me now: let’s go.”

There was a momentary silence: even the prince seemed to be surprised at the abruptness of the impending permanent departure.

Not to mention _Bobby!_

He stormed up to the rear door of the limousine, the uniformed men moving involuntarily out of his way as he did: “Ain’t you going to say _goodbye_ , boy? Not to me? Not even to Sam? Goddamn it, Dean: he’s your brother!”

The response from inside the vehicle was deceptively calm but clear. And completely void of any emotion at all: “No, he’s not, Bobby. That’s the trouble. He never was.

I said: let’s _go_.”

The petite man nodded and broke into a smile. “You heard him, men!” And he was also climbing into the rear of the limousine, already talking away as he did… “I’ve brought my good slave bands for you: we’ll have those AE ones off you in a moment. Then as soon as we get to the airport and on the jet, you can sleep. Don’t you worry, my beautiful one… first class all the way this time… wait until you see the alterations to my palace: nothing but the best…”

“Dean? Dang it boy, wait!” But Bobby’s pleas went unheeded as the door closed and the long vehicle started to pull smoothly away. He almost tried to run after it, but was physically stopped by one of the military-style, who actually seemed to nod sadly in condolence even as he climbed back into the last remaining SUV: the other one having already left the yard after the limousine and their master.

 And then that one was gone as well, leaving a stunned, moist-eyed Bobby and a broken, tearful Sam standing forlornly in the dust kicked up from the dirt on their tyres…

…. as the vehicles disappeared from view…

and took Dean away from them for good.


	17. Dean?

They were both just standing there.

In the yard. Staring in the distance where the cloud of dust was already settling…

Just staring.

Just hoping.

Hoping that the limousine would turn around.

 _Praying_ that it would turn around: for it all to be just a joke; a misunderstanding; a mistake.

But the long vehicle didn’t return. It had just driven away and out of sight and kept on going…

But still Sam and Bobby kept on watching.

 And hoping.

And praying.

Until it became clear even to _them_ … that it wasn’t coming back.

It just wasn’t.

With a sigh, Bobby straightened up, stretching out his back with a loud… and painful… ‘snick’. It was only then that he became aware of the tears trails down his own face. And the deathly pale, snivelling shell-shocked look on the face of the young man beside him…

“C’mon Sam.” Softly, and as carefully as he would have approached a frightened little puppy, Bobby reached up to put his arm on the boy’s shoulders. “No good us standing here: let’s go in…”

“But…”

“Come on, Sam.”

The young man stared straight at him but Bobby got the impression that he wasn’t being seen. He understood: all Sam’s thoughts… just like his own… were on a pair of green eyes that probably neither of them would ever see again… “Let’s go in, boy.”

“I…” Sam sounded dazed: “He… the photos, Bobby: he threw them away… he just _threw_ …”

The old man felt his heart would shatter: “He wanted _you_ to have them, Sam. They’re yours, when all’s said and done…”

“But…”

“He didn’t have a choice, boy. That bastard didn’t leave him a choice. Here…” And he was leaning in through the still open window of the Impala and tenderly gathering up the few small images, trying to blink his own eyes clear again before he once again faced the younger man. “Here, Sam. I’ll bring them inside: we have far too few memories of each other… and he wanted _you_ to have them.”

This time, he put his arm right around Sam’s shoulders… well around the tall young man’s back as high as he could reach. It took some effort, but he finally got the other man moving: walking couldn’t quite describe his motion… probably ‘ungainly stumble’ was a better description…

But at least they were heading towards the house!

Bobby pushed the kitchen door open and used the strength of his biceps against Sam’s spine to propel him in through the door. “What _you_ need… is a _drink!_ God knows _I_ do, I…!”

He stopped speaking abruptly. He stopped moving suddenly… if the fact that his mouth was opening and closing as ineffectively and rhythmically as a fish’s was discounted… Otherwise it was as if he had frozen in place where he stood…

Slowly the silence in the room filtered through Sam’s overwhelming sorrow. He raised his head enough to be able to follow where Bobby was speechlessly staring, blinking to try and focus through his tears…

Trying to get his grief-stricken brain to comprehend what he was now seeing…

For there was somebody else in the house with them.

Somebody was standing right at the other end of the kitchen, by the door that led through to the hallway and stairwell…

Someone that couldn’t _possibly_ be there…

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Dean?”


	18. Flashback

Flashback.

To the previous evening.

Dean stormed out of the motel, fully aware of the distraught faces of the two men that he loved so much and had just left behind him in there. He was almost shaking with rage as he let himself into the Impala, and sat for a long moment, staring blankly through the screen; white-knuckles gripping tight around the steering wheel…

But… his anger wasn’t _at_ them.

With hands trembling from the force of his emotions, Dean fumbled into his jacket pocket for his cell phone… deliberately turning his face away from the bodyguard who had ‘sauntered’ over to stand beside the car and stop him should he decide to try and leave…

The mood Dean was in, he just better not get in the way: that’s all…

He had been angry all the previous evening. He was _still_ so angry. It had taken him everything he had had, every single last bit of control, to behave himself at the ‘party’. To not get so badly beaten, or whipped, or _anything_ that night that he couldn’t walk away from. He had to make _sure_ he could walk away: no matter _what_ they did to him that night…

Because the prince had arrived and told him what had happened at the motel.

Hell: the prince had told _everyone_ what had happened at the motel.

He had walked proudly around the gathering as if he had owned them all, parading the naked green-eyed slave behind him by the lead now clipped to his collar, boasting to the elite of the AE about how Sam Winchester was going to have to finally give his brother up.

Because that night, the prince had left Sam Winchester no _choice_.

Dean was going to belong to the prince _exclusively_ … and the petite, dark-haired bastard was already  letting all the others know, in no uncertain terms, that all deals for the slave’s ‘favours’ were, in future, to be done through _him_ … and him _only_.

Because Dean was being shipped to his new home at the palace immediately, and only payments of the _highest_ value would be enough to get him brought back to America. Only promises of vast rewards would be considered…

And the deals… were already being _done_.

 _Lots_ of them.

Dean had to stop this.

And there was only one way that he could think of. It might be completely mad. It might be absolutely desperate.

But that was what Dean _was_. Abso- _lute_ -ly fucking _desperate_.

He began to press the buttons on the cell to make the call. This plan _had_ to work.

Please God, let it work.

Although… even Dean had to admit that… this was probably one of the most half-assed ideas that he had ever had.

 _Ever_.

It had come to him as a casual thought… little more than a passing wish… then it had budded into a hopeless possibility, but then… as Dean had thought it through, and thought some more… trying to think a way around all the _numerous_ ways it could go wrong… it had blossomed into a definite _idea_ … then flowered into a serious _plan._

But there was so much that could go wrong. Hell… _everything_ could go wrong!

But… Dean was past caring.

The AE walking into Bobby’s house as if they owned it had been bad enough, but… now that little bastard had threatened his brother.

He had set him up for murder! And Sam had no idea just how _choking_ that hold on him was going to be, because the prince just never let go. He would _never_ let go now he had the younger Winchester as well.

Dean had to _stop_ this.

They had left him with no choice: he _had_ to _end_ this.

But if he was going to try… this plan… then it had to be right _now_ , before the prince got him on that plane. The _moment_ Dean got taken onto that jet and tranquilised: that would be it… game over.

This was the _only_ chance that Dean had…

…however slight.

Dean sat and stared through the windscreen, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. More angry than he had _ever_ been.

Because they had just threatened his _Sammy!_

And…

It.

Stopped.

 _Here_.

The call went though. The cell phone at the other end was ringing…

… and answered.

Dean took a deep breath: it all came down to _this_. He licked his lips to try and moisten his mouth because it had suddenly gone so fucking dry… then spoke into the small gadget, voice tense with rage.

“Hey. Yeah. Yeah, it’s _me_.

Listen, you know that ‘favour’ you owe me? Well, I’m calling it in. Right now… and I mean _now_.

Listen, man: I really need your _help_.”


	19. Putting the Alpha into the Exousia

 “So… take me through it one more time…?” Bobby paused to stand by the sink from where he had been pacing around the kitchen, and stared at the man sitting at the kitchen table.

Or rather… men… because if Sam could be sitting any closer to his brother then one of them would be sitting on the other’s lap. If it weren’t for the fact that Dean’s lap were already occupied, that is…

The old man’s attention was drawn away from… _that_ … by the older Winchester brother groaning: “I’ve already told you three _times_ , Bobby…”

“Well then, tell me again, ya _idgit!_ ” His voice was raised: he couldn’t help it. The child that had been resting silently and shyly against Dean’s chest startled in fright at the loud noise and began to snivel…

“Oh for…” the man grumbled. “ _Thanks_ , Bobby…” And he was turning the toddler around in his arms instinctively so he could soothe him by gently rubbing his back: “Ssshhh. Shush, Bobby-John, it’s okay…”

“Sorry, boy.”

And the contrite old man was lowering his tone even as Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of his brother expertly tending to a baby: “ _Dude!_ You’re Doctor _Huxtable_ material! He _likes_ you!”

“Yeah, you told me that before, Sam. And B-J’s just used to me, that’s all.”

Bobby tutted as the young man’s face fell abruptly, but before he could admonish Dean, the child vocalised his own thoughts on the subject: “Da, da, da , da, _dada, dada, dada!”_ And two chubby little arms were reaching up to wrap around the neck of the subject of his adoration.

“Dada?” You _sure_ he’s not…?”

“No. Most definitely _not!_ ”

But then Bobby was moving determinedly across the room and also sitting at the table: “So tell me again. _Who_ is he?”

At least, he reflected, they knew who _Dean_ was. Although he still couldn’t believe it.

Bobby had thought he was seeing a ghost when he had walked back into his kitchen earlier that day. Either that, or he had just finally gone insane!

But there he had been…

_Dean!_

Just _standing_ there!

Even though Bobby had seen him get into that long gleaming car and be driven away with his own eyes…

Or at least… _something_ had been.

“So you’re telling us, that that was a _shapeshifter?_ Not only that, but the _Alpha_ Shapeshifter…? And you say he owed you a _favour_ , boy?”

“More than one. Bobby. I called them in: I’ve _told_ you!”

“Yeah, I know. I know you have, Dean. But…”

“But what, Bobby?”

Then he was sighing as Bobby was giving him one of his sarcastic ‘smiles’ that totally _wasn’t_. “ _Tell_ me _again_ , boy. And try and make it something I might _believe_ this time.”

Dean couldn’t blame the old man. He knew that he _himself_ wouldn’t have believed his own story. And _he_ knew the _whole_ of it…

To his tremendous relief, when he had called, the Alpha had immediately agreed to help him. Dean didn’t dare talk too much over his cell: for all he knew by now, it could be bugged; his Baby could be bugged; hell, _he_ could be bugged!

All he could do was tell the Alpha what was happening and ask him to meet him at Bobby’s as soon as possible… the only excuse he could think to tell the _prince_ off the top of his head for going there was to collect his dad’s non-existent tools. Luckily Dean knew that his surrogate uncle had had some old ones that he had been ‘meaning to chuck but you never know when old iron might be useful, boy’… _And_ lucky that the old man had had the sense not to query it!

He could only hope that they were still where he had last seen them, dumped untidily in an old bag behind one of the piled-up chairs in the book-encrusted living room, so that he could grab them without having to waste a single second of what was probably going to be extremely limited time…

It was going to be close anyway…

If it even worked at all.

He could hardly remember a single minute of the drive there. Dean had been vaguely aware of Sam in the passenger seat: trying to apologise; trying to think of… something, _anything_ to get him out of this… getting angry at him for his silence; crying…

He remembered Sam _crying_ beside him, begging Dean to talk to him, to not let it end like this, to not let _them_ end like this…

And all he could do was think of what had to be done. To try and get it all straight in his head because he would have minutes… _minutes_ … if he were lucky.

And if he _wasn’t_ lucky, then…

 If the prince got him on that fucking plane, then Dean would fucking crash it himself. That was the only definite he kept coming back to: if it all went wrong and he found himself on that plane… he would crash it _himself_.

No, when it came to the drive to Bobby’s, Dean could only remember his thoughts going round and round in his head and how it could all go wrong and… who the hell was he kidding? Of _course_ it would go wrong: how could he possibly expect such a half-assed plan to even stand a _chance_ of succeeding… The wheels on his Baby went round and round, and the thoughts in his head went round and round, and Sam’s anger went round to tears and back round to anger… and Dean didn’t properly remember a fucking moment of what might yet prove to be his last ever time alone with his brother!

The only time he stopped was when his bladder left him no choice but to… and he had taken the chance to check his cell and seen the simplest of simple text messages waiting on his screen…

“ _Ready when you are_.”

From _that_ moment, _all_ of Dean’s focus had been on getting back to Bobby’s house. And of somehow giving himself _time_.

Somehow…

He had a vague recollection of Sam telling him to slow down. _Continually_. As well as something about police cars…

... And then his brain was going into overdrive as the Impala approached that big intersection just as they were coming into Sioux Falls, and of the lights starting to change to red just as he approached… and of huge trucks revving up to go the other way that even _SUV’s_ would come off second best against…

This would be his only chance.

Dean’s foot hit the pedal with such force that at any other time he would have worried about hurting his Baby. But he made it safely through the lights, barely aware of the angry blare of the horn of an oncoming truck, and kept his foot down. Beside him, he was aware of Sam clutching at the passenger seat in surprise, a tentative smile of excited relief creeping across his face…

A smile that was immediately wiped off again when he realised that Dean was actually _returning_ to Bobby’s.

But Dean didn’t have time to worry about his brother just then.

Although he could appreciate the irony: he didn’t have time to worry about anything but _time!_ And now… as he finally got the fucking key to turn in the fucking lock before he fucking gave up and just broke the fucking door down _anyway_ … he could only pray that he would have enough…

Even as he was slamming it shut behind him, he noticed Sam’s anxious puppy-dog eyes staring seemingly into his own… and then the younger man’s expression was shutting down to one of steely determination. Dean had shouted him an order. And he knew his brother would try his best to obey it no matter what.

Frantically Dean ran through the kitchen and into the book-cluttered living area. Where was the bag with those ratty old tools? Where the fuck was it? And where was _he_ …?

“Looking for these?”

The human spun around in relief to face the direction that the voice had come from. The Alpha Shapeshifter stood behind him, with the musty and increasingly mouldy old canvas workbag in his hand.

And a genuine smile of welcome on his face.

Dean couldn’t help but return the greeting just as sincerely. Then his expression was turning anxious again as he realised: “ _Bobby-John!_ Where _is_ he? You haven’t just _left_ him somewhere?!”

“No, Dean! No. I’ve taken the liberty of putting him to sleep in your uncle’s spare bed… but I must admit I didn’t realise that you have such built-in baby-sitters! You never cease to amaze me: you’re a Hunter… yet you have so many of us as allies…”

“I…what?” And Dean was turning to look in the direction that the Alpha was now indicating to see… sitting on his surrogate uncle’s desk, amidst all the piles of old parchment and yellowing papers… two…

Dean didn’t know _what_ they were.

His first thought was a (slightly panicked) ‘fairies’! But these two beings were larger than the little bitch that he had microwaved!

Each of them must have stood about 15 inches tall in height… if they had been standing… As it was, they were both casually sitting right on top of the desk in just about the only clear patch amidst the clutter: one casually swinging his little booted legs over the edge while the other, who seemed slightly older, or at least more mature, sat stiffer and more wary. They each wore human-type clothes, but not the light and somewhat ragged trousers and shirts of their bare-footed smaller kin that Dean had watched outside in Bobby’s yard.

Rather, these two were dressed in the exact same dark green trousers and tunics… and heavy looking boots given the size of their feet… and each had shining buttons, polished to a high standard that Dean immediately recognised… and each was carrying weaponry of some sort in belts around their waists…

In fact, the first appearance of the miniature soldiers would have been incredibly impressive if it weren’t somewhat spoilt by their wings… Each of the men had two pairs that stuck out from behind their backs at slight angles diverting from each other, and reminded Dean irresistibly of the damsel and dragonflies that he had used to idly watch skimming over ponds and lakes during his many tedious hours of laying in wait for the targets of his father’s hunts.

Even in his briefest of glances across at the… small figures… the human could see that each set of the pair of wings would be able to move separately from the other, which would probably make their owners incredibly agile and manoeuvrable in flight, but as they also gave the impression of being created from the most delicate spider’s silk, as transparent and delicate as a lacewing’s while at the same time shimmering and glistening as if they had just been polished, it spoilt the overall effect by causing the two little solidly muscled men to appear ‘dainty’ and, Dean couldn’t help but shudder just from the thought… ‘fairy-like’.

“What the hell are _y…?”_ he began, but his words were cut short by the sudden sound of numerous engines from outside… and the two SUVs, one long limousine, and Bobby’s tired old Chevelle were also pulling into the yard, kicking up a storm of dust as they did….

“Shit!” Even as he could see Sam leaping out of the Impala and going to meet the men now piling from the other vehicles, Dean was turning to the Alpha. “I’m wasting time! We have to hurry!”

“Its fine,” the other’s tone was soothing. “I’ll go out as _you_ …”

“No!” And Dean was frantically catching at his arm even as the other began to turn away. “You have to cut the chip out! Otherwise this just goes on!”

“What?”

“My slave chip! It’s a tracker! If it’s not on the plane when it goes down, then they’ll just come looking for me again!” Dean risked another glance out of the window: the prince’s bodyguards were all just walking past his brother as if he were non-existent and approaching the house… “Shit! Shit! _Shit!_ Get away from the window! If they see you _in_ here with me…!”

“We have it warded. No one can see in.”

Dean physically startled at the soft voice that had suddenly spoken practically in his ear. In his agitated state since the arrival of the prince, he had all but forgotten… He turned hurriedly to find himself literally face to face with one of the two small beings who was now floating lazily at his head height: the wings vibrating so fast, and yet somehow so calmly, that it almost didn’t look that they were moving at all… “What the hell _are_ you…?”

“It is the Alpha Exousia that is out there? It is the Alpha Exousia that have been hurting you?”

Dean blinked in surprise: “I… _yes_ … But I don’t have time for twenty questions right now…” He paused: “What do you mean the window is _warded?_ What _are_ you?”

“You said something about a chip…?”

“I…” And Dean was feeling dazed momentarily, almost as if he were awakening from a deep sleep. He felt… as if the miniature flying man had somehow been looking directly into his mind.

As if it had been appraising his very _soul_.

“I… Shit, yes, the chip! You’ve got to cut it out! That’s the only way that this’ll be over!” He tried to shake the giddy feeling off and reached for his knife that he had hastily snatched out of his bag at one of the truck stops. He was slightly relieved as another glance outside showed him that somehow Sam had managed to stop the men from coming any nearer: they were now all standing around and watching both him and the prince, who seemed, as usual, to be issuing orders… but then… his _brother_ was outside with the prince and his trained _goons_ …! Dean’s anxiety rose exponentially once more: “You _sure_ they can’t see in?”

This was to the flying… fairy… sprite… thing, who nodded once in affirmation.

“Okay.” And Dean was handing the sharp blade to the Alpha and turning away to lean against the back of a chair in complete trust, pulling the crumpled white shirt loose to expose his lower back. “Cas said it’s about an inch above the mark, slightly to the left of my spine. But it’s deep.” He inhaled to try and calm himself down… and more importantly calm his _heart_ -rate down, at the thought of what was just about to happen. “It might even be _beneath_ my spine! But you’ve got to get it out, man. And hurry!”

He became aware of the silence in the room as all the beings stared in disbelief at the brand as the still slightly fractured lettering of the AE was uncovered. But Dean was running out of _time_ … _and_ patience! “ _Hurry!_ Before they come in and drag me _out_ of here…”

“If I get this wrong, Dean…” The Alpha was genuinely concerned about his friend. “I could cut through your spinal cord: it would paralyse you. It might even _kill_ you!”

“I don’t care: I’d _rather_ be dead than be _this_ anymore. I don’t exist, Dean _Winchester_ doesn’t exist: he never _has!_ I need this to be _over!_ Just cut it out! Shit: what’s happening _now?_ ”

Because one of the prince’s men was crossing over to the limousine as if to fetch something… and Sam was still standing besides the Impala with the paperwork in his hand, surrounded by all the others… “C’mon, man! Just _do_ it!”

“Here, human… this is surely nothing to get so uptight about: we can have it done for you imminently...”

“What! No!” And Dean was backing away in a panic from the flying… whatever he was, as the small hands were reached in his direction, the slim little fingers seeming to glow and spark with abnormal power... “I’m _warded!_ _Believe_ me! I’ve somehow already burned a witch alive and banished an angel! No magic! At _all!_ The only way to get rid of this thing is gonna have to be old-fashioned brute force sharp-edged metal and a lot of pain… and _they’re_ going to be in here any _minute…!”_

“Okay, Dean.” The Alpha was catching hold of him and making him deliberately twist around so the man once again had his back to him and was leaning with his hands against the desk. “If this is the only way. Hold still, though: this is going to feel… very… uncomfortable. You should just be grateful that you’ve got _me…!”_

And without hesitation he was moving to place the sharp blade against his friend’s back with one hand while the other… altered shape to become almost soft, leathery-looking and mitten-like. Even as he was pressing the beak over the area that the slave had indicated, he was talking: “You ever thought how amazing platypuses are, Dean? A miracle of the natural world. Their bills are covered in the best part of forty thousand sensors that can detect the electrical fields produced by their prey hidden in the mud!

 Or in this case… tiny little trackers hidden in the flesh of a human body…!

There it is… Still as you can now, Dean…”

And the Shapeshifter was pushing the knife in without hesitation, completely confident now he could sense exactly where it was: the receptors on what had only the minute before been his hand pinpointing the chip to the last micrometer inside the man’s body. Dean felt blood fill his mouth as he tried to bite back the pain, but he would have taken _double_ the amount if it meant he could be rid of the accursed little object that had caused him so much anguish throughout just about his whole existence…

“Okay. I can feel it against the edge. Now to get it out. Still, still, though….” And the hand that had only a second before been a platypus’s beak was shifting shape once more: this time elongating and extending, the fingers merging into one to become long and thin… _very_ long and thin. _Needle-_ width thin! With a small barbed claw on the end. And it was pushing as well into the newly made bloody slot made by the sharp weapon, sliding easily along beside the metal towards its target... “Whip spiders: gotta love’em!”

“Is there…” Dean tried to clear his suddenly croaky throat to try and distract himself not only from the intense pain, but also from the incredible urge to throw up: “Is there _any_ animal you can’t become…?”

“Not that I’ve found yet. Nor any part of them either! It’s a talent I like to exploit as much as possible, Dean. Like I said… you should be grateful we’ve become friends… I’m _far_ more than mere _magic_ tricks!”

He was leaning physically against the human’s back now with his chest, pressing all his weight onto to him to try and help Dean hold still. Despite his contrived jollity, the Alpha was incredulous in how the man was managing not to have even _flinched_ from what must be the sheer agony of having a sharp, and, if it slipped, a potentially _lethal_ knife being pushed straight in to his back.

Okay, so the tension of the situation was probably flooding the man with adrenalin. The Alpha could _feel_ how tightly Dean’s body was strung at that moment, and with good reason: should the prince’s men come in at that minute with those automatic weapons that they were all carrying so casually over their shoulders or outright in their hands, then the chance of any resistance actually _working_ would… most likely be non-existent… and with his ever increasing knowledge about the man, he knew that Dean would never risk the lives not _only_ of his brother and surrogate uncle… but… also… certainly the life of Bobby-John… and perhaps… even _his_.

No, if it came to it, Dean would give up and let himself be taken away for the rest of his life.  Simply to protect everyone else.

Even as the Alpha was tightening the tiny barbed claw that now passed for his hand around the edge of the trackable slave chip so he could begin to pull it out, he was thinking about the human and what his life had been like so far. He _deserved_ this one chance at freedom.

And the Shapeshifter was determined to help him try to gain it.

Although, if there had been _anything_ he could have done to have taken away the pain, he would have done…. He really _would_ have. He _liked_ Dean so much.

He may have been a human, and a Hunter… but he had become a _friend_. A _good_ friend. Possibly the Alpha’s only one.

He _wasn’t_ going to let him down.

As carefully as possible, he withdrew the chip from the deep and bloody wound. Then he was feeling the human sag slightly against him as the minute object was able to be seen in the cold light of day for the first time in probably nearly thirty years.

It didn’t look much.

Just a tiny flat square of metal, presently covered in blood. Nothing seemingly powerful or awe-inspiring _about_ it.

But it had tortured a man by designating him as being nothing more than a slave for nearly his entire life.

The Alpha clutched it tightly even as Dean was turning to see what had caused him such misery, struggling a little from not only still being slightly squashed between the desk and the shapeshifter’s body, but also from the copious amount of blood that was now seeping down his back and soaking into the suit pants as the knife had also pulled free…

“Dean! Shit, put pressure on it! You need a _hospital!_ I tried to keep the knife as steady as possible… I’m so sorry…”

But the human was shaking his head and… smiling and tearful suddenly all at once: “Nah, I’ve had worse, believe me. You did amazing. I really _owe_ you for this, man. I’m…

It’s…”

He was crying. Dean felt tracks of moisture run freely down his cheeks and he didn’t care. “Thank you.”

 It was all he could manage to say. It seemed such an anticlimax to the last few moments. He felt so… Dean didn’t know _how_ he felt. It felt like everything was welling up inside him and threatening to explode: he thought he would be ecstatic if his slave chip was ever removed but _actually_ …

… he just wanted to curl up in a huddle in a corner on the floor… and sob his _heart_ out…

“ _Thank_ you.”

And the Alpha Shapeshifter looked at him and understood: “Welcome to your first day of being free, Dean.”

He was snatching up an old throw from the couch as he spoke and holding it to his friend’s back trying to staunch the flow of blood, but Dean was glancing out of the window at exactly the same time and pushing him away. Outside, Sam was standing with the prince right in his face, the papers and something gleaming and glinting in his hand, and all the armed bodyguards around him. “We’re out of time! You have to go out there now!

Make sure you’ve got that tracker with you after all of this: it’s got to be found in the wreckage… Are you sure you can get out of it okay? You won’t be hurt?”

The Alpha smiled at his concern even as he was making Dean press the slowly saturating cloth himself against the, what looked to _him_ , heavily bleeding wound: “Easy as falling off a log. A very _high_ log!”

“But you can get out of it alright? We’re talking about a plane crashing, man… that’s not a step out of a door… That’s a fall from a fucking great height!”

“Yes, but to quote your favourite film that I caught you watching even after Bobby-John was asleep… Don’t pretend I didn’t… _I_ know how to fall with _style!”_

He smirked at Dean even while his entire body was fluidly altering shape so he became the identical of the human. Their height’s matched exactly. His face became the same: the same perfect lips; the amazing green eyes; every single line, slight and increasingly deep. His clothing also smoothly altered, until he was dressed in the same crumpled white shirt and suit jacket and pants… only without the blood that was now obviously staining it…

He even had the identical slave bands somehow appear around his neck and wrists… and Dean stared at the still darkening bruises that he had been oblivious to on his own body as they were _also_ copied exactly… 

In fact, the only obvious difference now between them was that his bruises on _him_ were being increasingly emphasised by the ever-decreasing lack of colour in his skin as the blood slowly drained from it…

“Dean, I really think you need a hospital!” The Alpha genuinely felt sick: had he saved his friend from slavery just for him to immediately bleed to death as a free man?

“It’s fine. _Really!_ Just go and get in that limo! Get that little bastard away from my brother! Shit, _here_ : you better have my wallet and cell as well! Just let me grab my pictures out…”

And Dean was hastily snatching the items out of his pocket… they would provide more evidence of his unfortunate, and hopefully _permanent_ , demise if they were also found in the wreckage… and opening the wallet to save his treasured photos…

And. most importantly, the one hidden right at the very back.

The one he had never shown _anyone_ else. Not even his brother.

Even as he was handing the Alpha the wallet and cell, the other was reaching instead to take the picture off him with a lot of interest: “So _that’s_ them…”

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you… _here._ ” And he was delving into the inside pocket of the suit and pulling out an envelope…”

Dean stared: “How do you do that, when you’ve just _changed_ it all…? How can things… be _with_ you… in your pocket… and change with you and yet stay _separate_ …?”

“Thousands of years of practice.” The Alpha grinned at him, inwardly wincing at the amount of red that the back of the man’s shirt was now covered in, the pressure against the wound lost slightly as it had become much more important for Dean to have found his most _precious_ belongings… He would have liked to help his friend pack and bandage the wound, but he knew that wasn’t an option…

In fact, the _best_ thing he could do would be to just get the prince and his men away from there as fast as possible. Once they had gone, Dean would feel safe enough to get to much needed medical assistance…

With that in mind, the Shapeshifter threw the envelope down on the table even as he bent to pick up the bag of old tools and hurried towards the door. But he _did_ want to explain: “I was interested. I _am_ interested… in _you_. I disguised myself as an FBVS agent… Fitzherbert? Do you know him? I wanted to read your file…

But his boss caught me… Freud…? Ford…? Something like that. _He_ , actually, seems to be a good man.

He was _furious_ at me for looking at your record… but then _he_ was also staring at it and declaring that, even if he couldn’t help _you_ , then at least he could protect… _them._ Even if it was the last thing he did.

And then he erased the whole thing. All of it. And he deactivated their slave chips, Dean. Said they’d be hidden from the system from now on.

Said he hoped he’d done it in time; hoped that no one else had ever seen it. And that ‘I’ was to forget I _ever_ had…”

By this time, the Alpha was almost at the kitchen back door, ready to take on the role of ‘Dean Winchester’. He turned back to address the human just before he opened it: “But I’d already sent a copy to the printer…

Bobby-John will be waking up soon.” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his son. “I _know_ he’ll be excited to see you. I’ll be back as soon as I can…”

“Thanks, man.” Dean could only stand where he was… _well_ out of sight of the line of the door... and watch the other… ‘himself’… go. “Be careful.”

Then the back door was opening and the Alpha had gone.

Dean felt himself wobble slightly on his feet as he turned back to stare anxiously out of the window once more… Would this work?

Please, God, this _had_ to work!

Outside, he could see Sam surrounded by the armed men, two or three of whom seemed to be holding something out to him by the way their arms were extended in his direction. And the prince was _definitely_ not looking amused…

The older brother wondered what was going on… he was so close to almost deciding that he should just go out to find out himself and to hell with the consequences… but then the Alpha Shapeshifter was joining them, in his perfect disguise of Dean Winchester.

 And Sam was looking shocked and… his expression almost reminded the watching man of one used from when they were both much younger: that of when his little brother used to look up to him expectantly for reassurance… in complete _confidence_ that somehow the bigger sibling would miraculously make everything okay. It felt to Dean as if the younger man was _waiting_ for him to pull off one final proverbial last minute ‘incredible escape’…

… and the older man felt tears slide down his cheeks again at the distraught look on Sam’s face when he realised that it just wasn’t going to happen…

Not this time.

And when the Alpha deliberately and seemingly disdainfully discarded the photos into the Impala…? The completely broken expression that his little brother just _couldn’t_ hide…?

Now Dean was definitely shaky on his feet. Shit: he seriously wasn’t thinking straight. It might not have been a very deep wound that the Alpha had made… only two or three inches in, and to both his disbelief _and_ tremendous relief a direct hit on the chip… but it was bleeding more profusely than he had realised.  He could feel the warm wet all down the back of the suit pants as far as his knees… and it was as if his vision was darkening… and all his limbs were somehow feeling heavier than usual…

He turned the throw around until he could find a drier bit and pressed it as hard as he could to the wound… “Either of you any good at doing stitches? And… erm… what the hell _are_ you?”

This was to the two little beings who, once the procedure of cutting the chip out had started, had moved themselves to stand stolidly on the desk to closely watch the proceedings. They both stared back at him, then, as Dean closed his eyes in pain and pushed the threadbare material more desperately against his side, exchanged a look and moved as one…

The older-looking  of the two flew up almost into his face and pushed against his chest, until somehow Dean found himself sitting at an angle on Bobby’s couch, perched uncomfortably right on the edge, the younger one already moving to a position behind him to examine the wound.

“The one who lives here kept talking about the angel who healed you. So our magic should work as well, despite this so-called warding that you speak of. Just relax, little human.”

Dean sighed, but shifted himself enough so that he could still see out of the window even as the little being was reaching to touch the dripping wound with his fingertips, tiny sparks somehow beginning to spray from the ends of each of them to striking the raw red slit and the area around it and disappearing as if absorbed into Dean’s skin.

Almost instantly his back began to heal: where the Alpha had had to stab him closed as if it had never been there, and with every new burst of light against him, the human could feel his strength beginning to return. He grunted a ‘thank you’, and the small man simply smiled and returned to concentrating on his task.

Outside in the yard, he could see no sign of ‘himself’ anymore, but the way that Sam was standing and just staring desperately at the long limousine meant that Dean could take an educated guess as to where the Alpha now was…

And then Bobby was almost running towards the vehicle but was being stopped by one of one of the armed men…

And the gleaming black machine was finally driving away… followed almost immediately by the other vehicles.

Leaving the old man and Sam just standing staring after them…

Dean sighed again.

Then turned his attention to the other small figure, the more senior looking one, who had now flown down to stand on the floor beside Dean’s knees, regarding him with grave seriousness and superiority despite the fact that he was having to lean his head right back so as to be able to meet the human’s eyes… “Do I have to guess what you are or are you gonna tell me _?_ ”

The winged soldier regarded him momentarily: “We are the Aes Sidhe.”

“The A-O what?” That… _seriously_ … told him absolutely _zilch!_

 “The Aes Sidhe. Although we have heard humans refer to us as the Sith: it seems to be easier for your tongues…”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up: “ _Sith?_ As in Star Wars…?”

Now it was the little being’s turn to be confused: “What is ‘Star Wars’?”

“I… It’s…” Dean paused, and shook his head at himself: “You know what: it don’t matter.” He took another glance out of the window and noticed his brother and Bobby still standing where they had been…

Still staring into the distance as if expecting something to happen…

They would be returning back inside the house at any minute. And Dean had no _idea_ where to start explaining any of _this!_ “O-kaaay. So you’re the Sith…

So, what _are_ the Sith? And why are you helping me…? Not that I’m not grateful…”

The little man nodded: “We were assisting you because… _Well_ …” Dean waited momentarily but there was no other explanation immediately forthcoming. “And as to who we are…?

The Aes _Sidhe_ are the guardians of our realm: the realm that you were fortunate enough to be brought to by the fairies”… Dean choked down his instinctive sarcastic comment about _that_... “You saw for yourself how very beautiful it is… Well, _we_ ensure that it _stays_ like that. It falls on us to ensure that any… disagreements… between the numerous lesser kinds there are there, are resolved with as little impact as possible on the rest.”

The human blinked. And thought it through for a moment: “So you’re like the _elf_ police?”

The small being bristled: “We are far more than mere _elves!”_

“Okay, okay! I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers…”

This time, his comment received a blank stare… “We _have_ no feathers: our wings are not like those of birds… How can you not see the difference…?”

Dean stared back: “Crap. It’s like talking to _Cas_ … So, if you’re the guardians of _there_ … what are you doing _here?_ ”

By this time, the other had finished his work of healing Dean… he hadn’t yet noticed but the numerous dark bruises around his neck and collar line had also disappeared… and gracefully hovered down to stand beside his colleague, proving that he might look younger but he actually stood nearly two inches taller in height. Dean could relate to the unfairness of _that!_

 “We are here because of the Alpha Exousia.” His voice was higher in pitch, definitely more youthful-sounding than the other’s, but just as serious in tone. “The human who lives here… the one that you asked the yard-elves to watch over… often gets intoxicated, especially in the evenings. They reported immediately to our king about how he would get angry, and cuss about these… people… the AE as you call them… and how they were causing you such hurt… and then he would start to smash things against the walls…”

“Yeah.” Dean commented: “That sounds like Bobby.” He risked another glance outside, worried that the others might be on their way in to the house…. “So why are you interested in the AE?”

“They sent Daevas though to our realm.”

 _Now_ they had Dean’s full attention: he stopped looking through the window and instead sat straight, listening intently. Memories of the frightening shadowy beings that Meg had raised sprang immediately to his mind…

“We had been on alert since the ruler of the Dwarves suddenly disappeared: it has nearly caused a war what with accusations and counter-allegations but we had managed to calm the situation down… and then… they came again.

This time though the alarm was raised: they came after the king of the elves, but we were able to beat them back. We followed their trail back through to this world and to the… AE.

But _they_ couldn’t have raised such a creature. That would take something… truly _demonic_ to do that. But it _was_ them who found a way through from this realm to ours... possibly somehow using _you_ , Dean.”

“I… _what?_ ”

He stared aghast at the meaningful look that both of them were suddenly giving him: “You can _see_ us, Dean. You can hear us. You could from the very instant you set foot in our realm! And even though you showed your dislike about being there so… _forcefully_ … it doesn’t alter the fact that… you count as  part of _our_ world as well now: they could have easily used you to create a portal through the natural link that you now and will _always_ have with us...

They both were surprised as the human’s face fell abruptly, showing genuine broken distraughtness in the green eyes: “Your world got attacked because of _me?_ ”

“No, little human, no.” The older Sith responded. “We are only surmising out loud. But… the attacks only happened _after_ you were brought to our realm, and according to the older human who lives here you have obviously been forced to spend a lot of time recently with these… men who make up this… AE.

 But there are others from this world who have crossed to ours. And we do not know for _sure_ how a portal may have been created: these are extremely powerful beings and they have a lot of…” his face twisted in a grimace, “... distasteful allies.”

“But it _could_ have been because of me?”

Now they were both looking _troubled_ : “Please do not put that upon yourself, Dean. This attack was not of your making, and from what we have been learning about you from your shape-shifting friend, we are confident that you certainly would not have helped them willingly.

All of our realm has been on alert due to the first attack, with instructions for any hint of information about the AE to be brought to our king immediately. Upon hearing that your Bobby was speaking openly and with such hatred about them, two of our kin were despatched to come through to this world to follow him.

It was by their assistance that he got to you in time when your sibling called in such a panic, although it took a lot of colourful language before they understood where he wanted to go in such a hurry. They hid in the room with your brother waiting to see what would happen – you were probably too emotional to have noticed them – and reported back to let us know that you were returning here. We were therefore despatched to wait for your arrival, but our orders are only to observe and report back.”

“Well, thanks for helping me then, if that was outside your remit.”

“You are very _much_ our remit, Dean. You are of _our_ world now, and therefore you are one of the multitude of beings that we are charged with watching over.

From what we understand, the leader of the AE is that man in the long shiny wheeled vehicle? And the Alpha’s Shapeshifter’s intention is to execute him?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That should hopefully create some disturbance amongst their ranks…”

“There’ll definitely be a power struggle.” Dean agreed.

Sounds from outside drew all their attention: the two Sith flew smoothly off the floor and hovered either side of the human as he turned to check through the window. The two other men were still out there, although Bobby now had his arm as high around Sam as he could reach and was obviously trying to cajole the younger man into returning to the house.

The more mature of the two beings spoke just about directly into Dean’s ear: “We will leave you for the time being, little human. We hope, for your sake, that your plan works, but should the AE ever act against us again, you could very well prove to be extremely _useful_ to us in the future… We sense that you have not mentioned anything to do with our realm to your family…?”

“Nah.” The negative was definite. “Where the hell would I _start?_ ”

“That is probably sensible. The baby is still asleep upstairs: the yard-elves have been keeping watch on him, they adore human… well, half-human children, because they are usually the only ones of your kind that can see them… They do so _love_ to play…! And Dean…?

 Good luck.”

Before they could disappear, or fly away, or do whatever they were going to do, Dean hurried to stop them: “Do you know why? Why the AE sent the Daevas through? What they wanted?”

The older one paused where he was in mid air: the younger one of the two simply vanished as if he had never been there.

“It seems so strange, Dean. Fortunately we found Ruchin the dwarf, hurt and locked in chains but alive. It seems that the AE did it as part of a deal with…. something not human… in exchange for many other things that may or not have included the warding that you mentioned…

All he could tell us was that the Alpha Exousia had refused to relinquish him completely over to… whoever the deal had been made with to get him. Apparently their refusal had caused some definite… tension… between the two. We have yet to ascertain who or what that is… but apparently a demon dressed all in black came to see him and was incredibly… “and here the fifteen inch or so tall soldier’s voice turned both furious _and_ incredulous ”… _pressing_ … about where his kind’s _souls_ go when they die…!”

“ _Souls?_!” Dean couldn’t help the exclamation: “You’re telling me Crowley was asking about _souls?!”_

”You know this being?” And suddenly both the small men were there again, with tense curt expressions, and advancing on him…

He sighed despite himself: “I can guess. And it’s something to do with Eve’s rising somehow… but we can’t figure out why. Hell,” he grumbled suddenly, “even _Death_ wouldn’t tell me, the miserable old…” The others’ eyes both opened wide at _that_ comment. “Look, we’ll sort it. Me and my brother: that’s what we do… somehow. Just give us the chance to… Please.

But right now I need to deal with _them,”_ he indicated out of the window at the now approaching men. “So… I know _they_ can’t see you, but could you…?”

“Okay, little human.” They exchanged serious glances but nodded, understanding the hint. “If you think you know this… Crowley… and can deal with the problem of the Alpha Exousia, then we will give you the chance. We must go and report to his majesty anyway. Keep us informed of how your plan has gone via the yard-elves…

But if they should prove to _still_ be a danger to our world… or to _you_ … then we will be back. You can _count_ on it, human.”

And with that, they were both gone, disappearing into nothing between Dean’s blinks. “Son of a bitch!”

Seriously, how the hell did he get himself _into_ these situations?

He sighed and went through to the hallway, half-wondering about running upstairs to check on Bobby-John… but then the back door to the house was opening and he found himself moving to wait instead, standing half in the entrance to the hallway just in case there was still a member of the AE left behind to keep watch.

Bobby was leading his brother in, speaking to him almost for the sake of filling the quiet as he came in through the door: “What _you_ need… is a _drink!_ God knows _I_ do, I…!”

He had seen Dean. And stopped dead where he was standing.

But Dean wasn’t really looking at _him_.

All his focus was on the tall young man that had also come into the kitchen: the one who had his head down and his shoulders shaking in slow shudders as if he had broken inside…

Slowly Sam became aware of the silence. Slowly he raised his head to look at Bobby, revealing blood-shot to the point of being totally pink eyes, soaking wet cheeks and a seriously snotty nose… and then he was following the old man’s incredulous stare across the room…

And then he was goggling in disbelief _himself_ …

… “Dean?”

There was a very long, very tense moment of silence in the kitchen: Dean didn’t know what to say, or how to say it… or even if he should? What the hell _could_ he say… ‘surprise’?!

But then Sam was suddenly moving, lurching physically towards his brother and simply throwing his long arms around him in the tightest, crushiest hug that Dean felt he had ever had, even _counting_ the one after the Mystery Spot! Even his arms were trapped against his own body by the orang-utan grip of the younger man, and he _seriously_ felt his _ribs_ crack…

But there was no way that he would ask Sam to release him. He _never_ wanted his brother to release him.

Even though he was _really_ beginning to struggle to breathe, and he could feel choking sobs from the body pressed against his… “Sammy? It’s…”

But Bobby had also recovered from his shock and was also on the move: “Sam! Get away! We don’t know what that is!” And before Dean could refute the inference behind the allegation, he found himself trapped and helpless in the tightest, crushiest hug he had ever had… with a face-full of holy water!

He spat some of it out derisively as it dripped off his chin: “Oh, _come_ on!”

Bobby glared at him even as he screwed the lid back on the hip flask that he had just used to throw over Dean: “Every single test! You better pass every single test! Because I don’t know what’s going on here, but I just saw _Dean_ get into that damned bastard’s limo and there ain’t no way he can be here as well as there!”

“That wasn’t me, Bobby. Just…” His voice cracked slightly as his lungs tried to protest the loss of their very last bit of air… “ _Can’t_ breathe…!”

“Sorry.” And Sam was releasing his hold in a hurry but without relinquishing his grip on the older man’s arms… He stared at Dean, straight into the green eyes that met and held his pink-tinged ones without hesitation… and knew that he didn’t need any proof at all.

“Dean…” The depth of his smile caused the dimples to come out in force for the first time in over two days, and he was moving in to hold the older man in his arms again and never, ever let him go… but not quite as tightly this time… when…

A slight wail was heard coming from upstairs… A baby’s wail…

“What in tar _nation?”_ Bobby couldn’t believe his ears: “What the _hell_ is going _on_ here?”

Dean sighed and managed to wriggle free of Sam’s grasp: “I gotta get this. I’ll be back in a minute. And I’ll take all your tests and explain.”

 And with that, he was hurrying upstairs to the bedroom from where the increasingly desperate cries were coming from. “Hey B-J!”

He paused with slight annoyance at the state of the room: “ _Guys!_ ” For the yard-elves had kept themselves occupied while watching over the sleeping baby by happily making themselves new clothes… out of a couple of Dean’s old shirts that he had stupidly left in the room previously… “Not my _Metallica_ t-shirt!”

He was still silently seething about it as he sat at the kitchen table: the baby safely in his arms and Sam so close beside him as if he would climb into them as well if he only could. But the tiny men and women had taken care of Bobby for him… _and_ Bobby-John… so… if it cost him his shirt, then…

But they could have fucking well _asked!_

He came out of his internal glower to realise that the old man was still waiting for the question that he had just snarled so snarkily to be answered… “I _told_ you, Bobby. The Alpha Shapeshifter owed me a favour.

And I just couldn’t take it anymore. Not after that night where… _he…_ was boasting that he would soon be owning me…

I called the Alpha. He met me here. He took my place. Right now, he’ll be up in the air in the plane with the prince. Any minute now, it’ll be coming down.”

“As _simple_ as _that?_ ” There was no attempt whatsoever to hide the sarcasm in the old man’s voice.

“As simple as that.” Dean met his glare without hesitation.

“So… how exactly does the plane come _down?_ ”

 The question was loaded. But all Dean could do was simply shrug: “I have no idea, Bobby. What’s going to happen up there…? I have _no_ idea…

But my personal effects… and more importantly… my _tracker_. It will all be found in the wreckage. I’ve got to find a way to burn the rest of the brand off… just leave it as a scar, it don’t matter… but even if the rest of the AE ever see me again, they won’t be able to prove that I’m…”

“ _Theirs?_ ” Sam finished the thought for his brother. “You never _were_ , Dean. And I’ll _kill_ anyone who tries to say different.”

The older man smiled at him, a tired to the point of exhausted smile, and allowed Sam to cover his hand with both his own much larger ones: the young man using his palms to wrap around Dean’s digits, wishing that it was his brother’s entire body that he could keep forever safe in his unwavering grasp.

But Bobby still had questions: “And _about_ that tracker? You damned idgit: one slip and you’d’ve never walked again! Or worse! And he must’ve cut it out _fast!_ You could only’ve been in the house for a few minutes… he may be your… ‘friend’…” Bobby didn’t even try to hide his opinion of what he thought about _that_ …”but he could’ve done _serious_ damage with your _knife!_ What if you _couldn’t_ have trusted him…? Did’cha ever think of _that_ , boy? What if he just plunged it into your back because when all’s said’n’done, _you’re_ a _Hunter_ and he’s a _…_ a… goddamned _monster!?”_

“Then I’d be dead, but at least I wouldn’t be a _slave_ no more!” Dean had finally had enough. “And I’d _take_ never being able to walk again, or worse, just to have that fuc…” he glanced down at the child and quickly modified what he had just been about to say: “horrible little thing out of my back! If it’s still _there_ , then… this will never stop, Bobby. It will always mark me as just a….

I can’t do it anymore! I _can’t!_ It was either that or bring that damned jet down myself ‘cos I can’t be…

I can’t be just a _nothing_ anymore: I just _can’t,_ Bobby.”

He was crying. Dean couldn’t help himself. The stress and the strain and the weariness and the demands that all the burdens of his life had heaped on him all just got too much…

Bobby-John stared wide-eyed up at him from his position on Dean’s lap and instinctively reached to stroke his arm, trying to stop him from being upset. The man couldn’t help but smile down at him through his tears: holding the toddler even tighter to him with his one free arm, the other still somewhat being hampered by Sam’s tight double-handed death grip around it… until the young man was also moving, leaning bodily forward until he could wrap his arms around both Dean _and_ the little boy, pulling them fully into his strong embrace, tears trickling down from his own eyes… “I gotcha, big brother. Always. I _swear_.”

Even as Dean closed his eyes and all but buried his face into Sam’s neck, feeling the water still on his long eyelashes but trying desperately to compose himself, Bobby was nodding slowly: somewhat abashed by the resulting flood of raw emotion that his words had caused …

“Well, okay… Okay, I get that, boy. I can’t even _begin_ to imagine what it must be like, to know that you have no control over anything…

 But I still don’t like that you had to ask something like _that_ for help… And the consequences if it had gone wrong…? Well, it don’t bear thinking about, boy…

And how did he heal it so quick? Don’t you _hogwash_ me, Dean… _I_ saw the amount of blood on your shirt and pants before you realised I was looking and went to quickly change… I ain’t _blind_ , boy: that was a _lot!_ I ain’t never heard of no shapeshifter doing no magic: Alpha or _no_ Alpha!”

“What can I tell you, Bobby?” Dean had managed to regain control of his fraught emotions again and was trying to sit up straight again… if only his brother would release him from his arms even _slightly_ … “I didn’t have time to worry or question. But I’d told him that he’d have to remove it because… well… the whole plan would be shot if he didn’t… so, if he brought along some spell or something… then I don’t know…

And I don’t really care.”

He tried to keep his expression innocent as he met the old man’s scrutinising gaze… and Bobby’s eyes narrowed slightly. The boy was lying. Or at least… he wasn’t telling the full story…

 And Dean might think he was able to fool Sam, but not _him_ : no, the _moment_ he got Dean on his own, he was finding out what the danged idgit had gone and done _this_ time…

But for the time being he would pretend to let it go…

Sam glanced over at Bobby and couldn’t help but smile to himself. _He_ was fully aware that they weren’t being told the whole story… and knowing his brother as well as he did, Sam knew that Dean probably had no _intention_ of doing so… _ever_.

But…

He had Dean back. He didn’t care how: he had him back.

And he would damn well get the truth out of him himself… but in _his_ way… and in his own time.

He glanced over at Dean as the other finally managed to retrieve his arm from the tight grip around them, only to see the green eyes focused somewhat beseechingly on _him._ And the toddler was also studying him intently… with… somewhat unnervingly… exactly the same eyes!

“The Alpha showed him that picture of me with mom.” Dean knew what he was thinking. “He liked it.”

“The photos…” Sam’s brows raised as his own eyes widened with realisation… “I thought you…. The way you threw them into the car… but of course that was _him_ …” He couldn’t help but sigh with relief: “Of _course_ that was him...”

“Here. You better have’m back.” Bobby tossed the pictures across the table towards Dean, then hastily moved them as the child squealed with excitement and made a grab with his podgy hands. Then Bobby-John was squealing again as Dean bounced him up high in his arms, letting loose with a burble of joy and a lot of wriggling and squiggling that the man seemed to understand: “Yeah, I know you want to get down and run around, but you’ll have to hold on, B-J! There’s too much stuff here for you to knock into, over and on _top_ of you!”

“He’s walking already?”

“Running. From the first time I looked after him. The Alpha was really surprised when he returned.”

Bobby considered. And clapped his hands together suddenly: “Give him here!”

The child started with slight shock momentarily and then gurgled pleasurably for the noise to be repeated: “Ba ba ba ba da da dadadada ba!” And he was squirming again in Dean’s arms… but this time with great determination to try and get into the old man’s outstretched hands.

Dean hesitated momentarily: “He’s under my protection, Bobby: I know what he is, but I won’t let you hurt him…”

“You think I _would?_ Ya stupid idgit… I know what he is, but… well… you’d be surprised, boy. Come here, Bobby-John! Good name that! Who gave you that? I never thought I’d have a guest like _you!_ We’ll go and find something for you to eat in a minute: we’ll go and find something for us _all_ to eat!”

Both the brothers stared at the old man with surprise as he bounced the child on his lap, chattering away to him with Bobby-John laughing back and clasping his hands together. “What are you two jackasses staring at?”

“I just never figured you…” Dean muttered…“Nothing…” Sam murmured at the exact same time…

To try and change the subject, the younger man absently picked the photos up, flicking through the pictures that over the years had become so ingrained into his memory that he didn’t really need to see the images any more…

But then he was staring as he came to the last one.

For he had never seen it before.

It was all but faded away: the faces of the subjects were no longer clear because the colours on the paper had washed away over time, leaving contrasts rather than clear images, and it had been kept folded enough to make the creases now permanent … but Sam could still make enough to see…

Three children, all smiling shyly at the camera.

None of whom he recognised, but two of them… a little girl of about three or four years old, and a baby, probably about the age of the child now playing ‘peek-a boo’ with Bobby… reminded Sam immediately of a young Dean in the photo of him and their mother…

 _And_ of Bobby-John _now_ actually…

“Who’s this? What’s this picture?”

Then he was staring as Dean glanced across at it and visibly paled, ducking his head as a sadness came into his eyes… but then it was clearing suddenly and the chair his brother was sitting on was being pushed back abruptly: “Son of a…!”

He hurried through to the cluttered living room and to the small table where the Alpha Shapeshifter had left the envelope. Bobby-John squealed in slight alarm as his surrogate father-figure moved away from his view and wriggled to get down from Bobby’s lap: the old man cussing beneath his breath and making a grab to catch him from falling straight off on to the floor, only to be thrown off balance enough for the toddler to succeed in escaping. He ran after Dean immediately with a gleeful shout of half panic, half triumph: “Baaba daba, _dadadadadada!_ ”

“Come here, trouble!” And Dean was sweeping him up into his arms, with Bobby-John squealing and chuckling and giggling all the way. It seemed only natural for the human to hold the child with one arm, courtesy of resting him on one hip with a chubby little leg swinging and kicking happily either side of his body, while with the other hand he was tearing into the envelope and pulling out the sheet of printed-out paperwork that the Alpha had left him to read…

“Dean? What is it?”

Both Sam and Bobby were immediately on their feet, concerned at how pale the other man had just gone… and how he had all but swayed where he was standing…

 Bobby hurriedly took the child from his arms while Sam helped his brother to sit down on the couch, trying not to exclaim at the fresh bloodstain: “Dean? Dean, talk to me: what is it?”

Then the younger man was taking the paperwork to see for himself as Dean’s eyes had once more turned blurry from tears….

The envelope had a few hand-written lines scribbled on it: ‘They’ve never stopped looking, my friend. They even hired a private detective to try and find you, but thought he’d just disappeared with their money. Now, all they can do is go to work every day and hope that somehow fate will cause your paths to cross again.’

And the sheet of paper inside looked at first glance to consist of just fairly boring official-speak:

_TRANSACTION CONDUCTED BY: AUCTION HOUSE 13, AUSTIN, TEXAS._

_SELLER ID: 240179, KULSEY CHURCH, FORT WORTH, TEXAS_

_PAYMENT OF $100 FOR THE FOLLOWING MINOR SOLD INTO VOLUNTARY SERVITUDE: 451140 – EVIDENCE OF LEGAL POSSESSION PRODUCED AT TRANSACTION = BIRTH CERTIFICATE – CONFIRMED_

_NOW KNOWN AS DEAN WINCHESTER, HUNTER, DECEASED 02/05/08…. ACCOUNT REINSTATED 19/03/09… **KNOWN ASSOCIATE OF THE ALPHA EXOUSIA- ACCESS TO THIS FILE RESTRICTED TO THE HIGHEST LEVEL OF SECURITY.**_

_PAYMENT OF $100 FOR THE FOLLOWING MINOR SOLD INTO VOLUNTARY SERVITUDE: 451141 EVIDENCE OF LEGAL POSSESSION PRODUCED AT TRANSACTION = BIRTH CERTIFICATE – CONFIRMED_

_NOW KNOWN AS MAGGIE LINCOLN , HEAD NURSE AT MERCY HOSPITAL, OKLAHOMA CITY_

_PAYMENT OF $20 FOR THE FOLLOWING MINOR SOLD INTO VOLUNTARY SERVITUDE: 451142 EVIDENCE OF LEGAL POSSESSION PRODUCED AT TRANSACTION = BIRTH CERTIFICATE – CONFIRMED_

_NOW KNOWN AS BILLY LINCOLN, PARAMEDIC, OKLAHOMA CITY_

“Billy…? Is this the same…? Is this _Billy?_

Bobby looked confused, and Dean…. He was just staring down at his feet, moisture still trickling down wet race tracks on his face to drip off his jaw.

But Sam was already putting two and two together. He hurried back in to the other room and snatched up the photo that he had just been looking at, all but shoving it beneath his brother’s nose as he ran back to join the others in the living room. “Is this him? Is this…? Is he… _Billy?”_ He tried not to get frustrated by the lack of immediate response. “Talk to me, Dean. _Please_. Is the baby in the picture Billy? Is this… your… real brother…?”

Bobby exclaimed and handed the increasingly wriggling toddler back to Dean, before reaching for the small, somewhat crumpled and white-lined object to look at it himself. Just like Sam, he had never seen the faded old picture before… but there was still a likeness… especially when he held it up next to Bobby-John… there was more than a coincidence of similarity between the two infants. “Are you telling _me_ that this idgit has a family…a _real_ family, that he’s never bothered to tell us about?

We’d have _found_ ‘em for ya, Dean: you _know_ we would have. We’d have moved heaven’n’ _earth_ for you, and that’s a fact. Why didn’t you _tell_ us, boy?”

“About what, Bobby? About two other slaves, who might or might not have had a chance at happiness? Who…from the looks of it… might actually be _normal_.” And Dean was looking up at him, the green eyes still shining with tears, but now also with a quiet fury. “You want me to have dragged them into _this_ life… where I’m just a… living commodity at best, and at worst, someone who not only kills for a living, but who’s been to hell and back . Literally!

You really expect me to do that to them?”

“No, boy.” Bobby quietened but was still upset. “But I’ve liked to have known. Kept an eye on them for ya, if nothing else.”

He reached for the sheet of paper, Sam silently passing him the envelope as well, and quickly skimmed through it as Dean sighed and wiped his face with his sleeve, smiling down at the baby who was looking up with wide eyes. Bobby-John had turned quiet and solemn again on seeing his tears, and one little hand came up to gently pat his face, smearing the moisture further across the stubbling cheeks with a rough attempt at gentleness.

Dean moved to catch the little fingers in his own and blew a disgracefully noisy raspberry sound through them. Bobby-John immediately giggled and happily snuggled into him even as his ‘dada’ carried on talking.  

 “It’s the ‘eye’ on them that _Ford_ was worried about, Bobby. The Alpha told me that he’d destroyed not only this file, but the ability for their trackers to be activated as well. Hopefully they’re safe….”

Dean sighed with genuine regret: “I just wish I’d got the chance to thank him.”

“Who are the other children in the picture though, Dean? And this record mentions a Maggie…?” Sam had taken the brief sheet back and was reading it through again. “And why is her number right after yours…? I… _No!_ ”

And he was staring incredulously at his brother.   _Just_ when he thought there _couldn’t_ be any more secrets between them…! “You have a sister as _well?_ Why didn’t you _tell_ me?

“Because you’d’ve wanted to go looking, Sam. That’s why.” Dean reached out once again to take the report, holding it high and re-reading it at an awkward angle to try and stop two chubby little hands from eagerly trying to snatch it… “It looks like they’ve done well…” He couldn’t help but chuckle at a memory… “Billy’s a paramedic! All I remember of him is that he was always covered in… _every_ mucky thing, and now he’s saving people.” Then he was sighing again: “They certainly don’t need something like _me_ messing up their lives… But it’s good to know...”

“Bullshit, boy.” Bobby drew himself up ready for a fight: “Didn’t’cha read that little written note? _They’ve_ been looking for _you_ as well. We’re _finding_ them for ya. Because you _all_ need peace.”

 “Is she younger or older?” Sam’s thoughts were heading along a different direction: his head was whirling with the realisation that there were _two_ siblings that all this time he could have been _searching_ for… if only Dean had trusted him enough to tell him…

He didn’t even realise how _sharply_ he had spoken until both the other men were staring at him. Dean finally answered, but with a slight hesitation.

“Younger... I think. I’m not sure. We were twins.”

“Twins…?” Sam all but forgot to breathe as he stared at the older man. “You’re… you’ve… You have a brother… and a _sister?_ A _twin_ sister? And you never thought to _tell_ me?!”

But then his own hurt and anger was subsiding just as speedily as it had arisen as the young man took in the expression on his brother’s face: “Oh Dean.”

He leant over the seated man enough to be able to slide his large hands around his shoulder, bringing their heads together close enough to touch. “We’ll find them. As soon as this thing with Eve is done, we’ll go and find them.”

Then he couldn’t help but grin as the child instinctively reached up with both hands to try and join in the mutual cuddle. He turned his body enough to be able to smile down at him: the depth of his dimples increasing as the toddler immediately turned coy and embarrassed and buried his face into Dean’s strong shoulder, his brother’s arm coming around him protectively.

“You’re so good with him.” he told Dean. “It suits you. Have you ever thought about it? Having a child of your own?”

Dean grunted. “Won’t ever happen: I’ve always been careful. And not with this life.”

Sam nudged him with the inside of his shoulder. “We could get out of this life. Once this is done, I mean…” he hastily added as his brother frowned. “I know we’ve got to deal with this Eve bit… well… Eve.” He hastily adjusted his words as Bobby-John’s eyes peeped up at him over the older man’s sleeve.

Dean meanwhile had been struck by another thought: “I wonder if I’m an _uncle?_ Dev… That was my sister’s real name… Devon. She might have had children by now. _Or_ Billy.” He smirked again at the memory of his baby brother. “Now _there’s_ a thought…”

“So… what’s _your_ real name, boy?” Bobby had pricked up his ears. “If you remember your sister’s…? And what was that last name again? On the sheet: the name of your mother….?”

“Kulsey Church.” Sam had released his brother and was already looking for his laptop. “Kulsey’s an unusual name. Probably lots of Church’s, but we might be able to find your mom as well… That is… if you want to…“ His excitement dampened somewhat as he suddenly realised: “ _She_ was the one that _sold_ you. _And_ your brother and sister. We can _find_ her…if you want, Dean….”

“ _I’d_ sure like a word with her…” Bobby muttered angrily beneath his breath.

But Dean was frowning…“That’s not right. I… That’s not right. It wasn’t Church: I wasn’t… Not Church. It was…” He shook his head in silent fury at himself.

“It was a long time ago, boy.”

“No.” Dean was definite. “It’s _wrong_.” His expressive brows creased together as he tried to remember something… _anything_ from so very long ago…

But failed.

Sam took pity. “So… were you and… ‘Devon’… identical twins?”

His brother shrugged, but otherwise made no response. By this time, Bobby-John was getting bored again and had determined that it was time to go and explore… with the result that Dean had a lap full of squirmy, squiggling toddler. He carefully tightened his hold and tried to distract the child by removing his watch and passing it into podgy fingers to play with…

But Sam was still waiting for an answer.

“I’m not sure.” Dean eventually had to admit. “I just… can’t _remember_. My name… but I’m sure it ain’t _Church!_ _She_ was Devon: _he_ was Billy. I can’t remember… _me_.”

The younger man nodded, and moved to pick _up_ the watch that Bobby-John had immediately dropped and gave it back to him, sighing as it was immediately hurled down again to the rug with a loud giggle. He knelt by his brother’s feet so the game could continue. He so wished that Dean could give them… _anything_ … but… he couldn’t even _begin_ to understand what emotional turmoil his brother must be going though after reading that report…. his own _mother_ had sold him… “That old photo makes it difficult to see properly, but It looks like she has the same eyes as you… _and_ Billy does. If she _is_ identical, she must be very beautiful…”

“Will you still want me?”

Sam stared at him in consternation. His brother was looking genuinely _serious!_ And… nervous. Almost scared.

“Dean, I was about to ask _you_ the same _question!_ Will you… still want _me?_ Now that you’ve the _choice_ …

Now that you’re no longer a slave?”

Then he was getting even more concerned as the worry in the green eyes cleared to instead stare at him in blank confusion… but then they were widening suddenly as a look of sheer… _wonder_ … came over his brother’s face and suddenly, there was the real man beneath… the one that seemed to Sam whenever he caught a glimpse of him, to be so truly _innocent_ … and so completely _incongruous_ with the man he had known all his life. “I’m not a _slave_ any more…”

 The words were whispered as if he didn’t dare to believe them… “The chip’s out… and I’m not a…”

“You’re _free_ , Dean.” And Sam was leaning forward and up on his knees, resting his hand on his brother’s thigh so that he could get their heads close together once more. “You can be whatever you _want_. So… _Do_ you still want me? I’d understand if you didn’t… Not after everything I’ve done. Not now you don’t have to any more…

I wouldn’t blame you if you just walked away…”

But then the older man was shifting his position enough to be able to turn his head… inadvertently allowing the giggling, squirming child to escape the confines of his lap at the same time: the toddler sliding to the floor only to stand bouncing on the tips of his toes with the gleeful hope of being chased… and meeting Sam’s lips with his own in a full, passionate kiss.

“I will _always_ want you. I always have. That’s the only thing that’s kept me going… You being in my life, Sammy… The _real_ you.”

And they were kissing again…

There was a cough from behind them.

A somewhat embarrassed cough.

Sam felt Dean’s entire body tense against him… his hand by now having curved around the back of his brother’s head as well… and begin to try and pull away from him in a panic. But he simply tightened his grip and whispered: “Ssshhh…” before lazily continuing the pleasurable exploration of the other’s lips.

It was only when he sensed that Dean was beginning to relax into him again that he finally pulled away… but not far. Only far enough to stare directly into his brother’s eyes as he spoke without turning his head, so as to try and assure him of the truthfulness of his next words…

“Bobby. You’ve probably realised by now that my feelings for Dean go _way_ beyond that of a normal brother…

 I love him. Pure and simple.

He’s my whole life. He always has been. He always will.”

There was a long silence in the room, but Sam didn’t care. Because Dean was looking straight at him. Looking into his eyes. Seeing the honest sincerity behind his confession.

And smiling.

“And _you?_ ” The loudness of Bobby’s voice as it cut through their love made them both start. “Do you feel the same way, boy?” This was to Dean. “Because if he’s _forcin’_ ya, or been manipulating this whole situation somehow then I _swear_ I’ll…”

“No, Bobby.” Dean hurried to reassure him. “No. And yes… I feel the same way. Sammy’s _always_ been my everything: _you_ know that.”

“As long as you do, then…” The old man wasn’t fully appeased. “Well, I suppose you ain’t really brothers so there’s no problem there…

But if you ever hurt him!” He rounded on the younger man.” Or let him down again in any way, Sam Winchester! Well then… you’ll have _me_ to deal with: he’s been through enough!”

“I won’t. Bobby.” Sam was laughing at the old man’s belligerence even through his protestations. “I swear. Everything we’ve been through… there’s nothing that can be thrown at us now that could make me turn my back on Dean.

Ever.

And I mean it…” This was added to his brother. “We’re going to take care of this bit…” he glanced down at the now pouting little boy: where had he learnt to do puppy-eyes like that? “… of Eve. And then we’re going to find your family. If you don’t want to tell them who you are then… well, that’s up to you…. But we’re going to find them.”

“Damn right we are.” Bobby agreed. “No argument, boy. _You’re_ our next case.”

“Just as soon as we’ve dealt with this Eve.” Sam reiterated, knowing it would forestall any argument from his brother.

Dean stared at them both. Then at Bobby-John who had now given up waiting and instead had sidled over to a nearby, cluttered with old books, wooden chair and was happily banging his plump little fists on them, gurgling at the noise… “B-J! _No!”_

The books slipped: paper ripped. The toddler’s eyes went wide as the pile toppled over, luckily _away_ from him… and then he turned to look at Dean: a mischievous grin covering his face. And then he was off and running through to the kitchen as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Bobby laughed uproariously: “ _He_ knows how to get your attention, don’t he? Better get after him, boy, before he destroys the house!”

Dean sighed good-naturedly and went to get the child, who had paused in the doorway to check he would be pursued, eager for the chase: “Slow down, trouble! Come here!”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh himself at the joyful noises coming fron the happy baby, chuckling and giggling as he ran away and down the hall, only for it to change to squeals and peals of hysterical laughter as he was obviously caught and swept up into a strong pair of arms to receive a good tickling as punishment… “I can’t believe how good he is with him.”

“He was tremendous with _you_.” Bobby pointed out. “It was him who raised you from _younger_ than that little man. Don’t you ever let him down again, Sam.”

“I won’t, Bobby.” This time he wasn’t laughing. “I mean it. He’s the only thing that matters to me.”

“You’d _better_.” But then Bobby was rubbing his hands together: “We better get that little munchkin something to eat. _And_ us: none of us have had anything but truck stop food for the last… however how long.

And turn that TV on! I want to hear the news.

I’m expecting a story about a _plane_ crash…!”

Sam grinned and followed him through to the kitchen to begin preparing something to eat.

Dean watched them from the hallway where he was casually throwing a squealing and extremely happy Bobby-John up in his arms: only a few inches out of his hands every time but enough for the child to shriek with fearful pleasure and instantly demand more.

He caught Sam’s eye: his brother smiling widely at him through the doorway even as he moved to the refrigerator to find… anything that might be _remotely_ edible for the child.

Dean smiled back. His heart full of love. His head… _incredulous._

It had worked.

The prince had gone and…

He was free

 

_He was FREE._

 

For the first time ever in his life, Dean found himself eagerly looking forward to the future… All they had to do was just get rid of this bitch.

And then him and Sammy could get on with their lives.

Together.


	20. A Good Place to Finish

Don’t read any more! Stop right here!

Take the happy ending!

 

 

You know you _want_ to…

:0


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

It was early in the next morning, hours before dawn, when an unnaturally long and colourful giant tropical millipede wriggled seemingly never-endingly beneath the locked and bolted back door, brushing through the obligatory salt line and scattering the tiny white particles with disdain across the floor until the whole, almost six foot length of the arthropod was in the kitchen. Immediately it curled itself up into almost a ball and smoothly changed shape, the overlapping legs and folds combining and elevating as the Alpha shapeshifter’s figure rose up to transform into his more human-looking appearance.

Quietly he made his way through the house, easing up the stairs without causing so much as a creak on the treads, homing in on his child, his flesh and blood, from pure instinct.

Even _he_ couldn’t help himself from smiling at the sight as he slipped inside the small guestroom where his son was soundly sleeping. The child was tucked safely into the centre of the double bed, snuggled securely beneath the protective arm of an equally sound asleep Dean, who was lying fully dressed on top of the covers, book still in his hand where he had been reading a bedtime story to the infant before exhaustion had overtaken them both.

The Alpha stood and considered him. He never thought that he would trust a human… certainly never a _Hunter_ … but this man… Dean Winchester… was a good man. Dean would protect even _his_ innocent child: just as long as he was never given a reason to think him _not_ innocent.

And he had learnt so much about Dean in the last few months: all about his life, about what he was… A slave.

The Alpha somehow found the idea of that abhorrent, because he not only trusted Dean, he _liked_ him. He never thought he would.

And… from what that cocky, arrogant little bastard with his own private plane had been saying while thinking he _was_ Dean, he wasn’t the only one who liked him, but in a completely different way! Really: did human males _do_ that to each other? Was some of it even physically _possible?_

The man had boasted about the meetings of the AE, remembering fondly the ‘entertainment’ that had been forcefully provided over the years by the slave Dean Winchester, now his own personal property... although intermixed with the promises of what _he_ was going to do with his prized new acquisition as soon as they had landed, the prince had already been making numerous deals on his cell during the flight: there were going to be a lot of ‘favours’ gifted in the future that would  involve that brand new property.

And the Alpha _really_ found the idea of that abhorrent.

Had Dean _really_ been used in those ways by all those men, and been forced to do… all those things? How could he have managed to deal with that throughout his life? And still be such a good man?

Despite himself, the Alpha moved across to the side of the bed, his gaze fixed on the sleeping human. He supposed Dean was good-looking… and apparently more people than just the prince thought so anyway: his own _brother_ did, for instance. The Alpha himself had never taken much notice: he sought out women because they could carry his children, he had never thought about taking a lover just because of the enjoyment of sex. And certainly not a _male_ lover…

But… with all the dirty things that the prince had been telling him what he would be doing to ‘Dean’ the moment he got him back to his palace… well, even the _Alpha_ was feeling aroused at the thought of them…

He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like… To have a human male as a lover…?

To wonder what _Dean_ would be like as a lover…?

With all that experience, all that skill: a lifetime of being trained in giving pleasure. What would it be like to _be_ with him? Would it be as amazing as the prince had drooled about?

He couldn’t help but wonder…

With one seamless, flowing transformation the Alpha’s appearance was already altering: he grew taller to well over six foot tall; his body filled out with wall to wall solid, ripped muscles; his hair grew to nearer shoulder length; his eyes turned hazel; dimples appeared in his cheeks.

 His mind made up, he looked around the room, noticing an old but sturdy dresser with large, secure drawers. Moving across to it, he found that the lowest one pulled out smoothly, revealing stacks of neatly folded blankets inside.

It only took a minute to remove some and make a soft, comfortable, secure nest out of the rest. Then the Alpha was approaching the bed and carefully beginning to extract his son from Dean’s secure hold. The baby stirred and sniffled, opening his eyes to gaze sleepily at his father and settled again on recognising him at once even through the new face.

“Sammy?” Dean was also awakening at the movement and sitting up immediately. “What the hell are you doing?” He was off the bed in a panic, reaching to protect the child instinctively.

“Shh.” The Alpha told him. “I’m not going to hurt him: he’ll sleep just as sound down here.”

His baby stared up at him with interest then twisted his body in his arms, tilting his head back enough to look around his father until his eyes were once more on Dean, waving his arms and gurgling happily at his approach. The Alpha felt his stomach knot a little as the human gently took his child back from him, cuddling him as naturally as if he were his own. “I just missed you lying next to me. I just wanted to be with you….”

“I don’t think his dad is going to be keen on that when he returns. Corrupting his son, and all that…” Dean was turning back to the bed, the infant already all but asleep again in his arms.

That wasn’t what the Alpha wanted.

Carefully he reached to take his child again, this time stooping decisively to carefully tuck him into the deep indentation that he had made in the soft blankets, the level of the drawer being only just off the floor so even if the baby did wriggle out, he couldn’t fall and hurt himself. “He’ll be fine there. I just need to be with you… _please_.”

He tried out the puppy-dog eyes that he had seen the soulless young man use to such effect. Dean still looked doubtful. “If the Alpha comes back, I’ll take the blame. But at least he’ll see that his child’s safe and unharmed... and sleeping well.” This time, he made sure to _really_ emphasise the pout. “Please, Dean. I _miss_ you.”

He was reaching for the human, using his larger body to encourage Dean back onto the bed. The other glanced down to check the baby and relaxed a little on seeing him already sound asleep once more in the make-shift crib.

The Alpha took his chance and pushed him gently but firmly to sit back on the mattress, immediately leaning down for a first taste, kissing and sucking at Dean’s neck as his, now large, hands deftly began to strip his clothes from him. The older man caught at them in a hurry: “Sammy!” The words were hissed with a slight panic.

“Let me. I’ll hold you until you fall asleep and go again, if that’s what you want. If you’re worried about him coming back and catching us. I just… need you so much, big brother… let me have you… _please_ ….” And the Alpha was climbing on the bed astride Dean, encouraging him onto his back as he fumbled to loosen his own newly-created clothing, undoing his fly buttons and pulling at his belt buckle. “Please. I _need_ you…”

He almost cried out as Dean leant up on one elbow and slid back down the mattress to get close enough to pull his denims out of the way and take his…or rather, _Sam’s_ , cock all the way deep into his throat. The Alpha couldn’t _believe_ the sensation: he had enjoyed being with women before but… the prince hadn’t exaggerated Dean’s _skill_ at doing this! He was feeling pleasure that he had _never_ before had.

He wanted more.

He wanted _everything._

He was trying not to moan: he prided himself on his complete control and he was _losing_ it!

He was coming before he had realised.

Even as the Alpha was falling forward onto his hands for support after the force of the orgasm, all but suffocating Dean as he nearly squashed him with his now much larger body, he was eagerly anticipating what might be next. Then he was on the move, pulling frantically at the rest of his and the human’s clothes with more desire burning through him than he had ever felt for anything else.

“Sammy?” But Dean’s anxiety about waking the child up was smothered in a series of bites and kisses as the Alpha managed to get his shirts off and just attacked the most perfect tasting flesh that he could ever had imagined. And the human’s body, as he succeeded in pulling the tight jeans away to finally get the Hunter fully naked, aroused him to heights that he had never even wondered about. Even the scars were sexy. The stories told by the prince ran through the Alpha’s mind as he just paused and committed every inch of ripped flesh to memory: he was going to recreate them _all_.

He _wanted_ to recreate them all.

But only with Dean.

This human that had somehow come into his life. With those damned mesmerising green eyes that were now staring up at him with open concern. “Sam… we can’t…. the baby…”

“We _can_.”

And the Alpha was biting deliberately at the inside of his own mouth, making himself purposely bleed to disguise any noticeable difference in taste from the real Sam, and swooped down to finally taste his human’s mouth. “I’ll keep silent. We won’t wake him, I promise.” He whispered.

Dean grimaced a bit as the warm metallic liquid met his tongue, but let the Alpha wrap his own around it as he pushed into his mouth. “Sorry: I just got myself so worked up in my own bed thinking about you. Tried to control it with a little pain. Didn’t work: no chance. Not with you on my mind: won’t ever work. Just got to have you… please.  Just once. Or perhaps twice. And then I’ll go, if that’s what you want.”

“S’okay.” And Dean licked gently at the small wound in the inner cheek, trying to lick away the pain from the being he thought was his brother, not even noticing the warm liquid as a couple of drops went down his throat. He lay back trustingly as the Alpha moved to lie between his legs, moving to wrap them automatically around the strong chest above him.

And Dean’s years of experience made it all just so easy…and so incredible. Even as the Alpha pushed in, he was overcome by just how amazing the sensations around him and beneath him were. He had never felt such tightness, or heat. This was perfection. He suddenly understood why all those men did what they did to his human… and why he was _never_ going to let _any_ of them do so ever again.

Because this was the closest that the Alpha would ever get to Heaven, and he would never want anything else, or anyone, again. He knew he _never_ would.

“You’re mine, Dean. Only mine.”

“Always have been Sammy, never any doubt of that.” Dean gasped beneath him even as he began to reach his orgasm. And as he came beneath him, somehow everything seemed to intensify tenfold until the Alpha felt that he might actually white out from pure ecstasy as he reached his own climax. He certainly had to physically bite his bottom lip to the point of painful to stop himself from screaming Dean’s name at the top of his lungs, and felt almost dazed from pleasure while they were both recovering their breath.

Then the Alpha moved to kiss the Hunter again: a passionate, possessive kiss that was returned in kind. He stared down into Dean’s eyes for a long moment, relishing the feel of the body beneath him, memorising every single line and wrinkle on the handsome face, studying every last soft hue of sparkling colour in those amazing eyes as they stared lovingly back at him.

The Alpha had only one clear thought in his head: was certain that he would only _ever_ have one thought from now on.

He wanted Dean Winchester as _his_.

And he would have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put in: THANK YOU TO ALL FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS. AND EVEN NOT THE NOT SO LOVELY ONES! :0  
> It does mean a lot to know that people are actually reading my scribble... and are actually interested enough to take the time to tell me!  
> THANK YOU ALL, and I hope I haven't offended anybody... too much!


End file.
